Strength in Weakness
by Littleforest
Summary: Set during OotP. When Harry falls ill in Snape's lesson, the last thing he expects is for the ensuing drama to unveil a deadly plot that could end his life once and for all...
1. The Beginning

******Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N- **Hello one and all, and welcome to my new story! I know that I probably shouldn't be trying to write it when I still have incomplete fics on my profile but in my defence, this story isn't going to be very long (probably around three chapters) and I couldn't resist the idea once it popped into my head. I've recently written another Harry/Snape mentor story (which _is _complete), and it got such a good reception that it gave me the confidence to try my hand at more! I'll do my very best to continue to update my other stories as I have been doing, but for now, I really, really hope you enjoy this newest edition!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Beginning**

* * *

Harry lay there, unmoving in his pain as the darkness of the dormitory cast moonlit shadows on his shaking form. Sweat poured from his forehead and he groaned, an ache filling his lungs as if his breath had suddenly become ice. Slowly he tried to pull his arm up, clenching his teeth as even the smallest movement caused stabbing pains in his chest. Time taunted Harry as he glanced towards his watch, squinting as he tried to counteract the darkness of the dormitory and his own bad vision.

_3.45 am._

Harry painfully pulled himself up in his four-poster bed, trying to desperately smother a hacking cough as his lungs contracted painfully deep within his chest. With a shaky hand, he reached blindly for the half-drunk glass of water that he always left by his bedside, his throat raw and incredibly dry. Another fit came suddenly upon him though, and instead he allowed his hand to fall limply back to his side, knowing that if he tried to pick the glass up now, he'd probably just drop it before he'd even managed to take a sip.

Clenching his eyes shut as sweat ran down his forehead, Harry struggled to regain control of his breathing, his hands gripped tightly to the white sheets that covered his bed. Listening carefully, Harry shoved a hand over his mouth in desperation, trying to contain his erratic breathing, making sure that not even the tiniest sound left his lips, no matter how much it hurt. He didn't want to wake his dorm-mates up.

He couldn't wake his dorm-mates up.

At the moment, no one knew there was anything wrong with him, not even Ron or Hermione, and Harry wanted it to stay that way. This year had been bad enough, what with Umbridge's regime and those disastrous Occlumency lessons with Snape, and he really didn't need anyone to think he couldn't handle everything.

It was the only thing keeping him going.

The trouble was, though, that whatever was bothering him, this illness, was getting progressively worse night by night, and exhaustion was creeping ever closer to his consciousness. Harry wasn't sure how long he could hide his illness from everyone, and desperation tugged at his chest in fear, adding to the ache that was already there. He couldn't handle it if everyone knew how sick he was. Deep down, Harry knew it was stupid; he knew he should get help, but he just couldn't. He _needed _to handle it himself, if nothing else but to prove to himself that he could. He had felt weak and useless ever since that terrible night in the Graveyard. He needed to be strong now because otherwise...well, otherwise he wasn't sure he could keep going on at all.

At first, it had been easy. By day he was his usual self, joking with Ron and the other boys, teasing Hermione, and laughing when she chastised them. The illness was never as bad in the day as it was in the night-time hours, and only once or twice had he had to suppress a grimace as he felt the pain rear expectedly up in his chest. The weakness never seemed to leave though, and it was only by sheer force of will that Harry was able to push it away and not let it show.

Night was by far the worst. It was only at night that Harry allowed his weakness to get the better of him. Only then did the illness make a true appearance; great wracking coughs, a painful tightening in his lungs. Weakness, exhaustion, pain; all only experienced in the darkness of night. In the darkness where his nightmares haunted him, and Cedric's deadened face taunted him every time he closed his eyes...

Blinking desperately as he swung his legs off the bed, Harry smothered yet another cough as pain overwhelmed his expression and dizziness came upon him. Only in the darkness did he let his careful mask slip, only when no one could see and no one could know. But, with anxiousness almost tearing a hole in his heart, Harry feared that he was going to lose even that small comfort soon, especially if it kept going like this.

His control over his breathing had become worse, particularly over the last few days, and recently he had barely had a full evening's sleep, his nights taken up by self-imposed silent vigils as he waited for the fits to pass.

Shaking himself slightly, Harry pulled himself shakily to his feet. With a quick glance over to the other slumbering occupants of the dormitory, Harry padded slowly and quietly over to the bathroom, holding back a groan as his head swam dangerously. His muscles - particularly those in his chest - ached as he crept through the dormitory, and tiredness enveloped his thin frame, so much so that he had to steady himself against the doorway to the bathroom to stop himself from collapsing to the floor. Harry knew that he was being stupid, that he needed help to get better and that he simply couldn't keep going like this, but his childhood experiences at the Dursleys had taught him differently.

He'd handle it on his own.

Harry could count on one hand the number of times he had received treatment for any illnesses he had suffered as a child, a figure much less than the actual number of times he had been sick. He had always done better dealing with these things alone, and this year it was even more important.

He couldn't afford to show any weakness, not with all the pressure he was under. One crack in his mask and Umbridge would strike; Harry knew it as surely as he knew he wouldn't get any more sleep that night.

Sighing slightly, Harry scooped up some water from the sink and splashed it on his clammy face, his eyes rising to meet his pale and shaking reflection. He had to get a grip on himself. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, but he shoved away the weakness as best he could. He had a long day tomorrow. Defence in the morning, followed by Potions; and it was all before lunch. Harry held back another groan as he made his way slowly back to his bed. Maybe the pain in his lungs would stay away long enough for him to get another couple of hours of sleep.

He doubted it.

Harry picked up the glass of water by his bed, steadying his hands as best he could to counter the tremors in his tired limbs. Gulping the cold liquid desperately, Harry willed his coughs to subside long enough for the water to make its way down his throat. With a trembling hand, he placed the now empty glass back on his bedside table, and tried to lie back on his bed.

Harry sighed wearily, resting his head gently on the pillow as he lay on his back, eyes wide open as he stared unseeing at the ceiling above his bed, his focus largely on preventing the coughs he knew where trying to fight their way out of him. Hopefully, like the pattern had been all week, he would be feeling better by the morning.

Tomorrow would be a long day indeed.

* * *

His feet unsteady and his breathing laboured, Harry stumbled into the Potion's classroom the next morning, his mind focused solely on making it to his desk in one piece. Ron and Hermione shot him concerned looks, but he merely gave them a weak smile and turned his attention to his Potions book. They probably thought his state of mind was something to do with Umbridge but in all honesty, Harry had barely noticed that he had been in a defence lesson at all. She had probably mocked him hundreds of times in the last hour, but all Harry had been able to focus on was his own ability to breathe properly.

Recently, it had become much harder.

Harry let out a shaky breath as he opened his book to the relevant page. His vision swam, and heat rose on his face, but he steadied himself on the table until it passed, desperate to just get through the lesson without any problems.

"You alright mate?" Ron asked quietly, his expression a picture of concern. It looked odd on Ron's usually cheerful face.

"Fine," Harry whispered, suppressing more coughs as he steeled himself for the lesson to follow. One more hour and it was lunchtime. Only one hour of Snape to deal with and then he was free.

He wasn't so ill that he couldn't deal with that, right?

The lesson passed in a blur, and in all honesty, had he not been working with Hermione, Harry would have probably blown up his potion long before now. He raised a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, shocked slightly by the extent to which the tremors were ravaging his limbs. His lungs felt as if they had been filled with ice, and no matter how often he blinked, blurriness ravaged his vision. He couldn't focus, couldn't breath...

Gripping the desk tightly, partly to hide the shaking from Hermione and partly to hold himself up, Harry closed his eyes, riding the newest wave of dizziness that had come upon him, and praying that he didn't faint. His breathing quickened against his will, and he was sure, even with the fogginess in his brain, that he wasn't getting enough oxygen.

Subconsciously he brought a hand to his chest, desperate to level out his breathing and pull in the air he needed, but it was too difficult and his vision swam as his lungs contracted painfully.

"Harry..." began Hermione but Harry barely even heard her over the sound of his own heart beat pounding loudly in his ears.

Quickly, he dragged over a stool and fell onto it, seconds away from fainting dead on the floor. The hustle and bustle of the classroom meant that most people paid no attention to him, but Hermione, as his partner, certainly hadn't missed it.

"Harry?" she whispered, concern covering her face as she watched her friend grip tightly onto the wooden stool, looking as if any second now he might fall off. "Are you okay? Do you need me to get Professor Snape?"

"No," Harry ground out, his voice a mere whisper as his chest tightened painfully. "I...I...just need...a minute. I'm...okay."

He snapped his eyes shut tight in a grimace of pain, his head swimming dangerously as he clung onto the stool. He wasn't okay. He _knew _he wasn't okay, but he couldn't bear to let this weakness show; especially in a class that included Snape and all the fifth year Slytherins. There was no way he was going to give them any ammunition against him. He would just have to sit it out here, and hope that Hermione could manage the rest of the potion on her own. He promised himself that he'd make it up to her, once he was feeling better of course. Harry raised a shaky hand to look at his watch.

Only ten minutes to go.

"Just...keep going," he whispered to Hermione, trying to ignore to intense look of concern on her face, a look mirrored by Ron and Neville who were working on the bench next to them. "I'm fine. Please...just...keep going."

"Harry..."

"Please, Hermione," Harry begged, desperately suppressing another fit of coughs. His chest ached with white-hot pain, and heat rose to the tip of each of his limbs. He was burning up. What the hell was wrong with him?

His heart was beating loudly in his chest, far more loudly than was natural, his throat burned and his chest ached. And yet, the feeling was almost nothing, _nothing,_ compared to what he felt when he heard someone come up behind him. Anyone but him...

"Mr Potter," sneered his Professor, the low silky voice immediately telling Harry who it was, even despite his distress.

Instead of answering, or even acknowledging the man's presence, Harry slammed his eyes closed, forcing air into his lungs, hoping desperately that his illness, whatever it was, would disappear in the next ten seconds. He refused to show any weakness to Snape.

"Lazing about are we?" Snape sneered.

"Sir," Hermione began desperately. "Something's wrong with him. He's not well - "

"Quiet, Granger!" Snape snapped.

Harry felt anger rise up in him, momentarily overcoming the pain in his lungs, and before he'd even thought about it, Harry jumped to his feet and span round to face the Professor, anger dancing in his eyes in defence of his friend, even despite his difficulty with even the simple act of breathing.

Harry didn't get much time to consider the foolishness of his actions however, as the breath stopped in his chest. It didn't take long for the rest of the illness to catch up to him either, and before Harry could even say a word, blood rushed to his head, dizziness and pain overcoming him in equal measures.

He couldn't breathe, no matter how hard he tried to pull in the air he knew he needed, Harry just couldn't seem to do it, and it was with panicked eyes that he grabbed at the desk, hoping beyond all hope that he could just stay on his feet long enough for it to pass. He couldn't do it though, it wouldn't come. The loud thudding in his head became louder, almost until he couldn't hear anything else, and red crossed his blurry vision as his face flushed with heat.

It was almost a relief when he felt the blackness come upon him, pulling him into the blissful state of unconsciousness.

Harry didn't even remember hitting the ground.

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**A/N- **Well, I hope you enjoyed that. I'm pretty nervous about this, so I'll ask...does anyone out there want to read more? If Harry's symptoms seem wrong to you (or unlike anything that actually exists in the real world)...well, all I'll say is that there is an explanation. Anybody want to try to guess what that might be? The update may not come immediately (as I stated earlier, I want to make sure I don't neglect my other fics), but it will come in time. Please be patient - I'll do everything I can to make it worth the wait. Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!


	2. The Diagnosis

******Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N**- Erm...Wow. What an incredible response to the first chapter! Over 50 reviews, over 50 favourites and over 150 alerts?! I certainly wasn't expecting it, but I thank each and every one of you! I only hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you all- it's a lot of pressure to live up to after all. It's relatively short, but crucial for the story. I hope you like it!

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**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Diagnosis**

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For the first time in years, as he watched Potter's body collapse on itself and fall to the ground, Snape felt the beginnings of fear spread through his body. The amusement from winding Potter up vanished as quickly as it had come, but he was frozen otherwise, stuck somewhere between disbelief and shock. For a brief moment, Snape clung on to the idea that Potter was faking in a plea for attention, but any such response was halted as soon as the boy hit the floor, the loud smack resonating through the classroom with haunting efficiency.

Granger was the first to move, eyes wide as she dropped to the floor beside Potter, frantically shaking the boy. Potter was eerily still though, and panic seemed to rip through the girl, grabbing the attention of students and teacher alike.

"He's not breathing, sir!" she said, panic clear in her eyes. Snape felt his heart clench at the girl's words, and finally his body moved into action.

"Out of the way," he snapped as he rushed over to the boy, his wand flashing through the air as he hastily cast a diagnostic spell. Part of him was angry at the boy for getting himself into trouble yet again, but the emotion fell from his chest as he studied the results of the spell.

Potter really wasn't breathing.

For one brief moment, Snape's mind was blank, his eyes staring at the motionless form of Potter. Idly he wondered if the boy had always been so small and pale. He'd never noticed before...

"Sir?" Granger asked tentatively, her eyes wide in fear. "What do we do?"

"Out!" he yelled, bringing himself back to his senses. "Class dismissed! Everybody out!"

His tone brooked no disagreement, and quickly the students began to file out of the classroom, worry on the faces of the Gryfindors and confusion on the faces of his Slytherins. Mutterings erupted through them as they left, but Snape forced himself to ignore them as his mind worked furiously for a solution.

Quickly, he waved his wand in an incredibly complicated movement, muttering furiously as he did so. After a few tense minutes, finally Potter's lungs began to pull in air again. It was a short term solution only, an artifical aid until they could get Potter's lungs working on their own, but at least the boy was getting oxygen. Checking his pulse, Snape found that it was thready and weak but there, and he released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Potter was alive.

"Should we get Madame Pomfrey, Sir?" Granger asked frantically, her face incredibly pale as she looked towards her friend, an action mirrored by Weasley beside her.

Snape glared at them for still being there when he had expressly told everyone to leave, but he shut down any derisive response he might have made in normal circumstances. The girl was right. Potter was breathing again, but not on his own, and what's more, Snape had no idea what had caused it in the first place; he was completely out of his depth here.

Without saying another word, and deliberately ignoring Potter's friends, Snape marched over to the fireplace in the corner of the classroom and threw in some Floo powder without another thought. As green flames erupted from the hearth, he knelt immediately on the cold floor of the dungeons, his thoughts whirring. Placing his head through, Snape called for the Hospital Wing, trying extremely hard to prevent his composure from slipping. Potter couldn't die...

"Poppy!" he called, a small amount of panic finally making its way into his voice now that he was out of earshot of the Gryffindors. "Poppy!"

"Severus," Poppy replied, walking over to the fireplace with no small amount of confusion. "What on earth is the matter?"

"It's Potter."

"Harry?" Poppy replied, concern overtaking her confusion. "What trouble has the boy managed to get himself into now?"

"He's unconscious," Snape answered gravely, his own breath becoming more difficult by the second. "Poppy, he stopped breathing."

"Well, what are you wasting time for then?" she snapped, her business-like manner quickly overtaking all else. "Out of the way!"

Snape pulled himself out of the fireplace, making sure that his face was blank despite the intense worry that was currently gripping at his chest. In all the years he had known Potter, the boy had managed to get himself into life and death situations as easily as most people fell asleep. That Potter had survived to the age he was had more to do with the boy's luck than his skill, but never had the teenager's mortality been so clear to him as it was now. Fear like he had not felt in years gripped at Snape's mind, but he forced it away with a determined fury. He couldn't think about what would happen if Potter died. He wouldn't think about it. Instead, he pulled anger back to the forefront of his mind, revelling as some semblance of control came back to him.

Madame Pomfrey came through almost immediately after he had vacated the grate, and rushed over to Potter as soon as she saw him, waving her wand as she cast her own diagnostic spell, her brow furrowed in concern. Forcing himself to look away as Pomfrey set to work on the boy, Snape turned to Granger and Weasley, a glare fixed firmly on his face.

"I believe I told you to leave," he growled menacingly, glaring towards the two Gryffindors. He refused to look at Potter, still lying pale-faced and unmoving on the cold floor as Poppy cast spell after spell on him.

"We're not going anywhere," Weasley said defiantly, and had the situation not been so serious, Snape might have scoffed at how ridiculous the boy looked. "Not until we know Harry is okay."

Snape glanced over to Poppy and met her eyes, the worry clear in her expression, and he felt his breath stop for a second.

"He's stable," she said tiredly, but the small shake of her head told him that there was more to it than that. Thankfully, the two Gryffindors missed the interaction, too concerned with their friend. It was a small mercy, but at least he wasn't dealing with two hysterical students as well as one very sick one.

"The Golden Boy is fine," Snape lied as he turned back to the two students. Obviously, from the look on Pomfrey's face, Potter was still very sick, but the two Gryffindors didn't need to know that. "Now leave, before Gryffindor House starts to lose some points."

Weasley looked ready to argue, planting his feet firmly apart as he crossed his arms defiantly, but thankfully, Granger had a little more sense.

"Come on, Ron," she said, gently pulling the boy's arm towards the door. Her own pale face, though, showed how reluctant she was to leave her friend. "Madame Pomfrey will look after him. We'll visit him later."

"Fine," mumbled Ron, shooting one last worried look towards Potter before leaving reluctantly and shutting the door behind them.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Snape turned to Pomfrey, questions already forming on his lips.

"He's stable," Pomfrey repeated before he could speak. "He's breathing again, but not nearly as easily as he should be. I'm going to need to run more tests to find out what on earth caused this. It doesn't make any sense!"

Snape's mind work furiously as Poppy continued in her efforts to heal the boy.

Potter couldn't go to the Hospital Wing, that much was clear, and Snape cursed Dumbledore, the Ministry and anyone else he could think of for preventing that from being an option. If the boy was taken to the Hospital Wing, it would only take minutes for the message that Potter was sick to reach Umbridge, and then she would have the boy out of Hogwarts and into St Mungo's before they could even blink. As much as he didn't like Potter, Snape knew that it was crucial for the boy's safety, if nothing else, that he remain within the walls of Hogwarts. Dumbledore might have been driven from the school, but it was still the safest place for the boy to be.

But if not the Hospital Wing, where to take him?

With the Headmaster gone, was anywhere in Hogwarts free from Umbridge's grasp...?

"We need to move him, Severus!" Poppy snapped, drawing him quickly out of his thoughts. "He can't stay here."

Quickly coming to the only decision he could think of on such short notice, Snape levitated Potter and guided him through the door of the classroom and out into the corridor. Thankfully, since lunch had now begun, the hallway was empty.

"This way," he called to Pomfrey as he marched down the corridor towards his quarters. Once he reached the familiar stone wall, Snape whispered the password and quickly pulled himself and Potter through the door that had appeared. Without another word, and hoping that Poppy had followed him, Snape strode through to his bedroom, a slight bit of anger overtaking his concern as he realised just what he was about to give up. He pushed the feeling away though, well aware that he didn't have much other choice.

"Severus?" called Pomfrey from his living room.

"Through here," he replied as he placed Potter on the bed, stepping back to give Poppy room to work.

Snape watched, holding his breath slightly as Poppy cast spell after spell over the boy's still form, frustration building more and more with every failed attempt. The boy was finally breathing on his own, but each breath was rattling in the teenager's chest, and the boy's pale face was slick with sweat.

"It makes no sense," Poppy snapped as she turned towards Snape, wiping her now sweaty brow. "Nothing's working. It's as if something is deliberately working against any form of healing. No matter what I do to fix his lungs, any progress I make is undone in seconds. He's getting worse."

It couldn't be...

Eyes widening as realisation hit, Snape looked towards Potter with a sense of dawning horror. There was only one thing that could cause such a reaction, and he cursed himself angrily for not having thought of it until now. He marched quickly over to the bed and pulled out his wand, holding his breath slightly as he cast the spell. In seconds, the results confirmed his suspicions with haunting accuracy. Potter was in for one hell of a night.

"What is it Severus?" Poppy asked. "Do you know what's causing this?"

Grimly, Snape nodded. "Poison. Someone is trying to kill Mr Potter."

* * *

**A/N-** So there is it! Over 50 reviews, and not one of you guessed right! A lot of you suggested things like pneumonia and asthma, but no one suspected foul play. This makes me both pleased and incredibly worried. Please tell me this makes sense! I will be explaining it in more detail in the next chapter, and all will become clear by the end of the story!

Also, Snape might seem a little out of character, but that's only because we're seeing it from his point of view. Hopefully in the next few chapters, he'll seem more like his usual self.

Just some notes on the timeline for you. This story takes place in fifth year, just after the incident in which Umbridge discovers the DA and Dumbledore is forced to flee the school. So Umbridge is Headmistress at this point, and Dumbledore isn't around. Harry is still having Occlumency lessons, but hasn't yet snooped into Snape's penseive, so that's something they may still have to look forward to...

Anyway, thanks for the reviews, favourites and alerts. I hope you liked it, and don't worry, the next chapter will be much longer. Thanks for reading!


	3. The Treatment

**********Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N**- Hello once again! Thank you so much for all your kind words after the last chapter! It gives me so much confidence when I try to write new stuff. Anyway, here's the newest instalment- I hope you like this one too!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Treatment**

* * *

"Poison?" clarified Poppy, her eyebrows rising at the statement as her eyes darted back to the still form on his bed. Quickly, she waved her wand as she muttered her own spell, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Severus, are you sure?"

Wordlessly, Snape nodded, doing his best to ignore the weak, rattling breaths that was coming from his least favourite student. It was the only thing that made sense to the Potions Master, the only thing that he could think of for why the boy was still ill, and why his body seemed to be resisting treatment. Poppy had tried healing him, so had Snape, and yet nothing had worked.

The one thing that seemed to be certain was that the boy's lungs had not encountered natural damage; otherwise Poppy would have noticed and fixed it in a second. Poppy was a highly competent nurse, one of the few people Snape actually respected, and he knew that, had this been simply an illness, or even an infection, she would have found it and cured Potter in an instant. Also, Potter, as far as he knew, had never had lung problems or difficulties with breathing, and for something to have come up so quickly, in a matter of minutes, there simply _must_ have been some artificial accomplice.

_It's as if something is deliberately working against any form of healing._

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Snape said gravely, dragging his eyes away from the still form lying on his bed. He couldn't look at the boy any longer, couldn't listen to the boy's struggle to pull in air. In truth, Snape had always hated seeing Potter, the face taunting him with his childhood bully, while the eyes...they punished him with accusing glares from the one person he had never wanted to disappoint. To look at him now though, Snape saw nothing but a young boy, on the brink of death, and who did not deserve such an end. If possible, it made him feel worse.

"Severus," Poppy began, interrupting his thoughts. "I've already checked Mr Potter's stomach contents. There's no foreign substance there that could have caused this. Quite frankly, the boy eats far too little anyway..."

"His lungs, Poppy," Snape interrupted, doing his best to appear impassive when in reality he felt that his heart was going to burst out of his chest in panic. This couldn't be happening. "His lungs are the worst affected. The poison wasn't ingested; it was breathed in."

"Or the skin," noted Poppy, her business–like manner back now as she pushed back the shock. "It could have been absorbed rather than inhaled. There are some poisons that can affect some areas of the body earlier than others, which could also explain why Harry's lungs are worse off."

Reluctantly, Snape nodded. In truth, he hadn't considered the idea, but there was a reason that Poppy Pomfrey was the school nurse and he was not.

"It's easy enough to check for that one," Poppy continued, turning towards Potter once again. This time, however, she put away her wand and began to divest the boy of his robes by hand. Potter remained eerily unresisting.

"We don't know what kind of reaction magic might have on the poison," she said to Snape by way of explanation. "It could just make things worse. Until we know what caused this, I'm not taking any risks."

Snape nodded, but he made no move to help the nurse as she continued to pull the boy's clothes from his faintly shaking body. For a moment, Snape wondered how Potter would have reacted to his most hated teacher's presence whilst he was in such a vulnerable state, but even his usual sneer at the thought was half-hearted. As much as he didn't like the brat, no one should have their privacy invaded like that.

With this thought in mind, Snape made a move to leave the room quietly, deciding that his focus would be better spent on finding a solution. If he was right, and this was indeed poison, they were going to need something to draw the poison out again. They would need an antidote...

"Severus," Poppy called as he reached the door, her attention still focused on the boy as she began to pull his shirt of his shoulders. "I'm going to need your help."

"But - "

"No buts," Poppy interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "I need your eyes. We can't afford to miss anything, and you're more likely to know what to look for."

Reluctantly, Snape returned to the bed, a glare on his face as he dragged his attention to the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Cause-Trouble. Any snarky comment, however, fell from his lips when his eyes fell on the bare, pale chest of the boy. Potter's ribs were showing, and Snape found himself shocked by how thin the boy was. School robes hid a lot, but he would never have expected the boy to be quite so thin. It was as if Potter had never had a square meal in his life.

Even worse than that though, and much more telling, were the strange scars that covered the boy's torso, far more than one would usually associate with the normal rough and tumble of childhood.

Maybe Potter was just really clumsy. The boy definitely managed to get himself into dangerous situations, seemingly every school year without fail; it was almost as if the boy had a death wish. But even as this thought hit Snape's mind, there was a niggling feeling building within him that gave him pause. The feeling wouldn't leave him, and Snape glanced over to Poppy who for her part was intensely searching the boy's skin for some sign of an irritant.

"The boy has a lot of scars," Snape commented with a frown as he moved closer to the bed. Poppy stilled her movements, but didn't speak. Looking closer, Snape noticed that there seemed to be no pattern to the injuries that the boy had apparently endured, but some of them looked to have been quite nasty.

"Yes," she eventually replied. "He does."

Pomfrey's face turned fierce for a second, and it seemed to take her a colossal effort to push past the anger that had come over her in that moment. Snape felt tendrils of apprehension come upon him almost against his will.

"He won't talk about them," Poppy said quietly, as she turned her attention back to Potter, her face more serious than Snape had ever seen it. "I can't prove anything."

"They are not from Quidditch?" Snape questioned with a frown. "Or from any of the boy's foolish adventures?"

Deep down, Snape felt the tinglings of dread begin to spread throughout his body. Now that he truly thought about it, if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Potter was far from clumsy. These injuries were not accidents, and he found himself racking his brain for a solution that fit what little he knew about the boy.

Poppy didn't answer at first, her focus still on Potter. She was searching every inch of the boy's skin for some sort of sign that he had made contact with poison, and Snape felt shame rise up in him. For a moment, he had managed to forget that the boy was on death's door, and he felt slightly ashamed of himself. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

"No," replied Poppy bluntly, her eyes still on the boy as she undressed Potter down to his boxer shorts and starting to search his legs. Snape's eyes were fixed on the pale legs, his fists clenching slightly as he tried to control his reaction. Poppy's examination had revealed yet another scar, and this one looked oddly like a dog bite.

Snape knew in that moment that she was right.

Had Potter come about any of these injuries at Hogwarts, Poppy would have fixed it in a trice, leaving behind no trace, and especially no scars. For Potter to still have these marks, there was only one explanation. They must have come from outside the school. From his life away from Hogwarts.

Snape was about to say something further, but Poppy interrupted before he could.

"His hand," she said quickly, drawing Snape to the boy's left hand, which was wrapped in some sort of bandage. He wondered how in Merlin's name he'd missed that.

Gently, the nurse pulled aside the bandage to reveal something some sort of injury on the back of the hand. Poppy gasped, and pulled out her wand quickly, and Snape found himself moving closer to the boy to see what on earth had got the nurse so riled up.

_I must not tell lies._

Potter remained oblivious, but Snape found himself grateful for that, because for once the Potion's Master could not hide his emotions. He growled, and turned to Poppy with anger in his eyes.

"Is that -?"

"It's from a blood quill," Poppy answered gravely, confirming Snape's worst suspicions.

"Is that what has caused all this?" Snape replied, gesturing to the pale, and faintly shaking, unconscious boy. "An infection after all?"

Poppy didn't reply at first, as she examined the wound more closely. After a moment, she turned to look at Snape, her eyes more grave that Snape had ever seen them.

"It doesn't appear to be infected," she said, her expression dark. "I think he's been using Essence of Murlap on it."

"How long has he had it?" Snape asked, clearing his voice slightly to make sure he still sounded impassive. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he was shocked by the presence of this injury. Of anything that could have been revealed during this examination, those five words, carved into the back of the boy's hand, were the last thing Snape had expected to see.

"A while," Poppy replied gravely, looking at the unconscious boy with sad eyes. Snape felt his breath hitch slightly at the answer, but thankfully Poppy didn't notice, her focus still on Potter.

"So it _isn't_ the cause of this?" Snape gestured to the boy, his expression tightening slightly as the boy's became more erratic. Potter's chest stilled.

He and Poppy were still for a terrible moment, silently willing Potter to take in the breath he needed. After a long moment, in which Snape didn't seem to breathe either, the boy finally pulled in vital air into his lungs. Snape turned and saw his own relief reflected in Poppy's eyes, and he realised in that moment that they didn't have much time left. They had to find out what was causing this.

"No, I don't think this is the cause, I'm afraid," Poppy replied, placing Potter's hand gently back by his side before turning to face Snape. "Even if the poison had made it into Harry's bloodstream through those cuts, it would have affected him much sooner than today. What's causing this, whatever it is, is much more slow acting."

"Inhalation," Snape said, completing her thought out loud. There really was no other answer.

Poppy nodded. "You're likely to know more about poisons. Do you know of one that works by inhalation?"

Had it been anyone else, Snape would have been furious at the assumption, but Poppy knew, better than anyone apart from perhaps Dumbledore, how deeply he had been entrenched into the dark allure of Voldemort. Since his return to the Dark Lord this past summer, it had been Poppy who had been fixing all his wounds.

"I can't be sure, but it seems to be similar to a poison that certain people developed quite a liking to during the last war."

Poppy didn't say anything, but neither did she have to. She knew that he was talking about his fellow Death Eaters, and he was glad that she was not going to make him elaborate.

"It isn't an exact match," Snape continued carefully, "But I believe it is a variation of that particular poisonous potion. It was used as a torture device. The potion had poisonous fumes, and when breathed in, they spread to the lungs causing them to slowly shut down. If that is indeed what ails Mr Potter, he has probably been poisoned slowly in small doses, with it weakening his lungs day by day."

"And today?"

"Potion fumes," Snape replied, thinking only for a moment. Again, it was the only thing that made any sense. "In the lesson. It was the last straw. Potter's lungs had been weakened too much and simply couldn't take any more."

"Is there antidote?" Poppy questioned, looking over to Potter worriedly. "I can't fix the damage until all traces of the poison have gone."

"There is one thing," Snape replied, but a grave expression fixed itself upon his face. "It is...painful though. Especially since Potter's lungs are already so damaged. It may be too late."

Poppy looked sadly over to the boy, but she didn't protest, and for that Snape was grateful. This would be hard enough anyway, without having to win an argument against the extremely stubborn witch.

"How long will it take for you to brew it?" she asked quietly.

"A couple of hours, no more," Snape replied, his mind already focused on the task ahead of him. "Can you keep him stable until then?"

She looked over to Potter, her brow furrowed as she watched the grimace on the boy's face grow as more pain apparently overcame his lungs.

"I suppose I'll have to."

* * *

**A/N- **So what did you think? I know I said I'd do a slightly longer chapter this time, but it worked out better this way in the end. The chapter was also finished sooner, which I'm guessing no one is going to complain about? This way, I can have a whole chapter dedicated to Harry finally waking up, which should be interesting to say the least.

Oh, one more thing. Since I've noticed quite a lot of people seem to like this story (thank you by the way!), I wondered if anyone would be interested in checking out one of my other stories. It's called 'Breaking Point' and it's another Harry/Snape mentor-ish story, but it also includes a drunk Harry and a smidgen of Dursley abuse. I hope you like it!

And if that doesn't interest you, instead you could check out my community (Harry's Many Mentors). I update it almost daily. There are a lot of excellent stories in this community, both brand new and old classics, and I've made it my mission to find them all. I take suggestions, and if you wanted to subscribe to it, I'd try hard to really make it worth it.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and if you can spare a moment, let me know what you think of the story so far!


	4. The Cure

******Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N- **Hello my wonderful and faithful readers! I'm so overwhelmed with all the support and praise that everyone has been giving this story, and I thank each and every one of you. It means so much to me, and I only hope I can live up to your very high expectations for this story. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and let me know what you think!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Cure**

* * *

When Snape finally made it back to the bedroom doorway almost two hours later, his slightly sweaty fingers clasped tightly around the small vial in his hand, he was greeted to a sight that deep down he had hoped not to see so soon. In truth, he had known that the boy would get worse, especially as the poison continued to weaken his lungs, but he had not been expecting it to be quite as bad as this.

Potter was moaning in pain, his thin and frail body twisting in the sheets as Poppy stood over him, furiously trying to whisper comfort in his ear. The boy appeared to still be unconscious, but it seemed to offer him little relief, and Snape felt his own breathing tighten as he watched the teenager struggle to cling on to life. Potter was clearly in a lot of pain, his breathing raspy and weak, and as bad as it was now, Snape knew that it was only going to get worse in the next minute or so.

"I have it," Snape told Pomfrey as he marched quickly into the bedroom, dragging his eyes forcibly away from the teenager on his bed. "It works in a similar way to the poison, only it attacks the poison rather than the body. It must be inhaled to work, which will be painful because of the damage already done to the boy's lungs." Snape paused before fixing his gaze firmly on Poppy, willing her to understand his next words. "It should take about ten minutes for all the poison to be destroyed; after that you will need to be ready to heal him."

Poppy, it seemed, understood perfectly, if the grim look on her face was anything to go by. She had realised, just as he had, that this treatment, this cure, was by no means certain to work. Potter's lungs were extremely taxed already, and from the faintly shaking limbs, Snape suspected that the poison had begun to spread through his blood stream to other parts of his body as well. This potion was extremely risky to use, especially with the boy in the state that he was, but Snape knew that they had no other choice.

Poppy steeled herself, and moved over to take the boy's hand. "Okay Severus. Now's as good a time as any."

Taking a deep breath himself, Snape moved over to the bed and knelt beside the boy. With a quick flick of his wand, he conjured two medical masks for Poppy and himself, before popping open the lid of the vial and holding it in front of the boy's face. The potion contained in the vial was smoking slightly, and would continue to do so for the next hour or so; it was those fumes that would hopefully save the boy's life.

"Come on, Potter," Snape muttered, willing the boy to breathe in the antidote. With his free hand, Snape grabbed Potter's head in a firm grip, trying to hold him still so that he inhaled as much of the fumes as possible. Potter fought him weakly, but after a brief struggle his strength appeared to leave him, and Snape had little trouble holding the vial in front of the boy's mouth and nose. Even accounting for his uneven breaths, it took longer than Snape expected for the boy to inhale the fumes, and Snape felt anxiousness unwillingly creep up on him as he silently willed the boy to accept the antidote. Potter could not die.

Potter groaned, but Snape held firm, even as pain crossed the boy's features and he began spluttering and coughing. Snape saw Poppy grip the boy's hand harder, but Potter seemed oblivious to her presence, his eyes clenched shut as the antidote began to work its way down into his lungs. It wouldn't take long for it to start to take effect...

Unable to take the tension any more, Snape glanced over to Poppy and met her eyes, his own worry reflected in her expression. She obviously cared for the boy, which given the amount of time Potter spent in the Hospital Wing was not necessarily unreasonable. What surprised Snape though, was the extent to which she liked him. Snape had never understood his colleagues when they spoke of Potter in such a positive manner, talking about how he was polite, modest and a model student. To Snape, the boy had never been anything but a arrogrant, rule-breaking brat with no respect for his elders. For years, Snape had been determined to remain unaffected by whatever charms the boy had been using on the other Professors, certain that Potter's true nature was more in line with his bullying bastard of a father than anything else. He had hated the boy all the more for it too.

Poppy though...Snape trusted the Medi-Witch, and knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't be fooled as easily as his other colleagues. He had never noticed before, but if even Poppy, who Snape genuinely respected, seemed to like Potter, why had _he_ never seen that side of the Gryffindor? The boy was arrogant and disrespectful, that much he was certain of, but apparently Potter was not always like that. Poppy would not stand for it if he was, and she certainly wouldn't care for him as much as she clearly did. Of course, Snape had always gone out of his way to avoid the Potter spawn, seeing him only when absolutely necessary, but even then Snape had thought he had seen enough to know that the boy was exactly like his father. But why, then, did no one else agree?

Maybe, his traitorous mind supplied, it had something to do with his own treatment of Potter. Snape had never made a secret of how much he despised the boy, but he had never thought for one second that the boy didn't deserve it. But now, watching with hardened eyes as the boy struggled with each breath, a sheen of sweat forming across his brow with the effort, Snape couldn't help the tinglings of doubt from entering his mind...

He forced the guilt away with a force that drew on his Occlumency skills, telling himself sternly that they had bigger problems to worry about at the moment. Potter was hanging on to life by a thread, and these revelations would have to wait.

As if Potter had heard his thoughts, the boy's eyes snapped open, expressing fear and pain so intensely that Snape almost faltered. He froze, his eyes locked onto the boy's face as the teenager frantically searched the room, the green eyes behind the glasses glazed over. It was clear that Potter was lost in the haze of pain, stuck somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, and Snape felt the guilt start to creep up on him once again. The boy had never looked less like either of his parents.

"Harry," Poppy said softly, having noticed that the boy was a bit more conscious of his surroundings. "Harry, it's Madame Pomfrey. You're safe. You're going to be alright."

Potter didn't reply, his breath hitching slightly as he clenched his eyes in pain. Snape felt a small amount of pity for the boy as he watched impassively from his position by the door. After administering the cure, Snape had retreated as far away as possible whilst still remaining inside the room, deciding that it was not his job to offer the brat comfort. Poppy would deal with that.

He couldn't help but watch though, as Potter tried to steady his breathing, even despite the pain it was obviously causing him. Snape felt his respect for the boy rise almost against his will. That poison had caused grown men to cry out for their mothers after only a couple of minutes. Potter's lung damage might have been done in small amounts over what seemed to be a much longer period, but it was no less extensive. Aside from a small groan every now and then, Potter barely made as sound as he rode out the pain as the antidote began to take effect.

"That's it, Harry," Poppy soothed, rubbing her thumb across his hand as she held it. The boy seemed to take comfort in the gesture. "Not much longer to go now. It'll be over soon. Then you can rest."

She looked over to Snape with no small amount of concern, perhaps hoping that the things she was muttering to the boy were not necessarily wrong, but Snape couldn't bring himself to lie to her. Poppy frowned when she saw the look on his face and the slight shake of his head, but after a moment her expression took on a tone of defiance and she raised her shoulders slightly as she turned back to the boy.

"Harry," Poppy whispered furiously. "I know it hurts, but it's going to be okay. It'll be over soon. Just keep breathing. Please, keep breathing."

She looked desperate as she watched as the boy began writhe around in pain, the antidote working in full force now, but her hand never left his. Snape found his mind locked on the thoughts that had previously bothered him, thoughts of why in Merlin's name Poppy cared for Potter so much. What had she seen in the boy that he had apparently missed?

Potter took great gasping breaths as he gripped the Medi-Witch's hand tightly enough to bruise, but Poppy didn't seem to care. It was almost unbearable to watch, even for Snape, and he found that he had to forcibly stop himself checking his watch to see how much time had passed. They had a long way to go yet but, even though Snape was certain that the boy was as horrible as his father, despite the doubts that were beginning to burrow in his mind, he couldn't help but wish that he could take some of the boy's pain away. No one deserved this. Not even a Potter.

* * *

It took over ten minutes for the potion to work itself through Potter's body, and each second seemed like agony to the boy. It was no easier for Snape and Poppy to watch either, and with each pained breath that the boy took, Snape felt his own chest tighten slightly as he wondered if it would be Potter's last.

The boy was strong though, and despite the pain, struggled through it all with a stubbornness that surprised Snape. The boy had always seemed to him to be arrogant and lazy, but after the way Potter had dealt with the treatment, Snape found himself doubting even those assumptions. Potter had not once called out for help, nor asked for any pain relief; instead he had just stoically borne the pain, as if he knew that he had no other choice and had accepted it. It was not the way a spoilt, arrogant brat would have acted, that was for sure.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Snape watched impassively now as Poppy began to work properly on repairing the boy's lungs, finding the task much easier now that her healing talents were no longer hindered by the effects of the poison. The boy had fallen unconscious again, but this time his face didn't seem to show the grimace of pain that had characterised it only moments before. Snape felt relief flow through him before he could even fully register what had happened.

"He's responding to my treatment, Severus," Poppy said softly, relief clear on her face as well. Snape deliberately schooled his features into an expression of indifference, but the knowing look in her eyes told him that she had seen his worry too.

Snape cleared his throat. "The boy will survive then."

"He will be weak for a few days," Poppy told him grimly. "His lungs took a lot of damage, so he might still find a bit of pain in his chest for the next week or so, but yes," she paused, sparing him a knowing grin, "He will survive."

Snape bit down the biting comeback that was itching to leave his tongue, and simply nodded, gesturing towards his living room. Potter was asleep now, and would remain so for the time being. Even though they now knew that Potter would recover, given time at least, their problems were by now means over. He and Poppy had a lot to discuss and a lot of decisions to make. With Dumbledore gone, and Umbridge in charge of the school, they would have to be careful with how they were going to proceed from now on. Poppy, thankfully, caught the serious look in his eyes, and after casting a quick monitoring spell over the now sleeping and oblivious Potter, followed him into the other room.

* * *

"What now?" Poppy sighed as she sank wearily into the sofa, accepting the cup of tea he had offered her with a grateful smile. "Harry can't stay here, not without Umbridge knowing."

"The boy isn't strong enough to be moved," Snape said gravely. He was reluctant to allow Potter to stay in his quarters, but he knew that he had little choice. "There is also the fact that we do not know who attempted to poison Mr. Potter, nor how it was administered. Until we do, Potter will need to be kept away from the general population of the school. He will be safe here."

Poppy nodded, and sipped from her tea. "We will need to come up with a plan then. To fool Umbridge, I mean. She can't know that Harry is sick, or she'll have him away from us before we could even begin to stop her."

Snape inclined his head in agreement, but he didn't speak, choosing instead to take a sip of his own steaming tea. It would certainly take some thought, and once again he cursed the fates for leading them to this point.

He gritted his teeth as he stared into his mug, his mind furiously working through all the options. If only they could contact Dumbledore, this mess would be solved much more easily, but the old man appeared to have disappeared off the face of the earth in the aftermath of Potter's little club being found out. No one knew where the man was, and Snape had no way to get hold of him. No, they would have to deal with the problem of Umbridge without the Headmaster's help.

Of course, it wasn't as simple as that.

There was more to consider than simply Umbridge's threat to the boy. Not only did they have to catch the person who had poisoned Potter in the first place, Snape also had to consider the Dark Lord's plans concerning the boy. There were spies amongst the students, Snape was sure of it, and if they got wind that Potter was weakened, they would tell the Dark Lord immediately, and Voldemort might choose that moment to attack.

There was no way they could stop the word getting out though, not when his fifth year Slytherins had all witnessed Potter fall. It would be common knowledge by tomorrow morning, but there was no way Potter was going to be recovered by then. He didn't have any idea how they were going to stop Voldemort finding out that Potter was weakened, and Snape felt a thrill of fear enter his heart for the first time in years. Potter, in the state he was in, simply couldn't handle an attack, either mental or physical, and the Dark Lord was capable of both. Snape took another deep swig of the hot liquid as he thought furiously for any solution to the problem, but nothing came to him.

It was beginning to look like Potter was the only one who was going to get any restful sleep that night.

* * *

**A/N- **So how was it? This was a fairly quick update, but I did try not to rush it too much. I hope it came across okay, and that Snape in particular was in character. I know Harry was briefly awake here, but he will make a much more convincing return to consciousness in the next chapter, and that's where things start to get really interesting!

Anyone want to guess at what Snape's solution might be to the problem of Umbridge finding out about Harry? I have got an idea in mind, but I'm always interested to see what you all come up with!

Also, I was asked by a reviewer recently, how long this story was going to be. In truth, I don't know. I have an outline in my head, and I know how the fic will end, but there are a lot of ideas running through my head that I want to include, all of which will make the story a lot longer than I originally planned. So, at the moment, I'm just seeing how it goes. It will be finished, I promise you, but whilst I don't want to drag the story out, I also don't want to rush it. I like the pace I'm going at at the moment, so look out for more of the same.

I really appreciate all your support, and your reviews make my day every single time I read one. Thank you so much for all your kind words. And lastly, thanks for reading!


	5. The Awakening

**********Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N**- Another chapter has arrived! I'm really glad you all liked the last chapter - your response was overwhelming! I loved all those reviewers who gave me their suggestions about how Snape was going to solve the problem of keeping Harry's illness a secret. Some of you absolutely nailed it, which made me smile like a loon all day. I'll reveal my solution in the next chapter, and I hope those of you who didn't guess, or had other ideas, like how I've written it. For now though, I hope you enjoy this newest installment!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Awakening**

* * *

"Well, I think I'll be off," Poppy sighed, breaking the silence.

Snape, who had been lost in thought up until then, started slightly at the declaration, his eyes rising to meet her weary face. He watched somewhat impassively as Poppy began to gather up her things from the couch, tiredness clear in her slow movements. It was a feeling that he could certainly sympathise with; he felt fairly exhausted himself.

"Excuse me?" Snape questioned, rubbing at his forehead tiredly. He could feel a headache coming on...

"I think I'll be off now," Poppy repeated as she began to lay out a number of potions on the table beside the couch. Snape was about to protest but Poppy, having noticed the glare that had begun to form on his face, interrupted before he could even get one word out. She pointed to the first three potions that she had laid out of the table, and the serious look on her face told Snape that now was perhaps not the time to argue.

"Now he'll need to take these three when he wakes up," she continued firmly, as if sensing that a protest was brewing in Snape, even despite his silence so far. "Which should be tomorrow morning if we're lucky. If not, then here's a Dreamless Sleep potion for him. He needs sleep to heal, and Harry can be prone to nightmares."

Nightmares? Potions...?

Snape's brain, which had been taxed already during the afternoon's events, was becoming overloaded by the information Poppy was giving him, and although he would never admit it to anyone, his exhausted mind was taking far longer than he would've liked to keep up with what was going on. There was _definitely_ a headache brewing at the back of his mind...

"What are you talking about, woman?" Snape snapped, too tired to care about being polite. It might only be six o'clock in the evening, but Snape had had enough for one day. Not only they exhausted themselves in dealing with Potter's illness, but he and Poppy had also spent hours discussing what needed to be done next. They had a tentative plan now, but it relied on a lot of factors going in their favour. Only time would tell if it would prove to be successful.

"I'm leaving, Severus," Poppy replied testily. She sounded tired herself, and Snape felt slightly guilty for his own snappy tone. "You know as well as I do that I need to get back to the Hospital Wing. I can't be absent for too long."

"What about Potter?" Snape asked, reluctant to admit that she was right. Snape glanced towards the open door of his bedroom but there was no sound coming from it. Potter, it seemed, had finally found some peace.

"The boy is asleep, Severus," Poppy replied with a warning tone. "He's stable and on the mend. We've done all we can for tonight. The rest is up to Harry now."

"And if he wakes up?" Snape asked, annoyance creeping into his tone of voice. He did not want to be saddled as the boy's nursemaid.

"He's going to be a bit disorientated, so you might have to reassure him that he's going to be okay," Poppy replied seriously, but Snape couldn't hide a scoff at her difficult demands; reassuring Potter was as easy as reassuring a monkey. The boy never listened...

"You'll be fine, Severus," Poppy added, having obviously caught his expression. "Just go easy Harry when he wakes up. He can't afford for you to be cruel to him."

"I am not -"

"Oh, don't argue, Severus," Poppy snapped, her eyes dancing slightly with barely concealed anger. "That boy has never deserved the treatment you've given him over the years. Maybe now you'll realise - Harry is not his father."

Before Snape could effectively shoot down that notion, as his mind was itching to do, Poppy left without another word, sweeping through his door with barely backwards glance. Frustration built within him at the insufferable woman's accusations, but what annoyed him more was the part of his mind, however small, that was traitorously beginning to agree with her.

Something about Potter didn't add up, that was for sure. Snape had not forgotten the strange scars on the boy's body, nor clearly visible ribs on his torso. On top of that, was the fact that Potter had not told anyone he was sick. Snape knew the poison had to have been inhaled in the long term, but the boy should have been showing symptoms of some kind long before now. Had the boy been hiding it? And if so, why?

As if there weren't enough questions surrounding the boy, that was not the only thing that Potter seemed to have been hiding. The scar on his hand, words carved into the skin, had obviously been kept from the staff by Potter himself. If any of the Professors, even Snape himself, had seen those scars, the perpetrator would have been dealt with immediately and Potter would have been healed. It was torture, pure and simple, and though Snape didn't know Potter all that well, he was certain the boy had not used the Blood Quill willingly. But then, who _had_ forced him to use one, and why in Merlin's name had he stayed silent about it?

Everything he had ever thought of Potter, all those long held beliefs that the boy was like his father, no longer seemed to match what his mind was telling him now. Potter should have been screaming of the ill-treatment, downright demanding that someone deal with it.

And the sickness...Potter should have been moaning and whining about it; anything to get a bit of extra attention. James Potter certainly would have. The whole school would have known about it within the hour, had the same problems afflicted Potter Senior when he was at school.

But _Harry_ Potter? Harry Potter had hidden it. The only thing that didn't make sense was why.

Well, Snape would have plenty of time to work the boy out. Potter would have to stay here for now, as much as Snape didn't like the idea. Snape had briefly considered offloading the boy onto his Head of House, but McGonagall was under greater scrutiny from Umbridge than even he was. Potter wouldn't last two seconds with Minerva before Umbridge found out that he was there. No, that wouldn't solve anything.

He, of course, was the last person anyone would expect to be housing the Boy-Who-Lived, and that was something that could actually work in their favour.

Despite the fact that he had once been a Death Eater, Umbridge seemed to think he had the right idea about a lot of things, and though Snape detested the woman with a passion, he knew he could work it into his favour. The woman seemed to like his attitude towards Potter in particular. That in itself was disturbing. Snape knew that he could be cruel upon occasion, not that he cared overly much, but he justified it as part of the part he had to play for the Dark Lord. He was not a nice man anyway, bitterness clouding almost every judgement, particularly when it came to Potter, but deep down he knew that what he was doing was wrong. That he didn't change was more due to the fact that he couldn't bring himself to care, than a lack of morals. It was much better to be the cold, heartless man he was, than to be someone who actually cared about others. The last person he had cared about had been killed, murdered, because of him.

Forcefully, Snape pushed away the thought. It would do no good to dwell on past mistakes now. Lily Potter might be long dead, but her son still needed his help. Snape would never like the boy, or what the boy represented, but he would make sure the boy lived at least. It was what Lily would've wanted, and he owed her that much.

Wearily, Snape dragged himself off the sofa and moved over to his bedroom. Pushing the door fully open, Snape half-expected the boy to be writhing around in pain again. It was certainly a memory that would not leave his mind for a long time to come, but thankfully it was not to be repeated now. Potter was sound asleep.

Potter's breaths were raspy but they were coming in much more evenly than before. However, despite that there was a slight crease at the boy's brow and a slight frown around his mouth, both of which told the man that Potter was by no means comfortable, even in a deep slumber as he was.

There was improvement though, and Snape released a small, relieved breath that he hadn't been aware he had been holding.

Turning his head away from the boy, Snape conjured a comfortable chair and moved to take a seat over by the bed. Potter would need watching over, for tonight at least. Since Poppy had now gone, the task was left to him.

He summoned over the potions Poppy had left behind, just in case Potter needed them, and reached over to his bedside table for the book he had been reading recently. Sparing once last glare for the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Cause-Trouble, Snape began to read, quickly losing himself amongst the pages, whilst keeping half an eye on Potter, as if to reassure himself that the boy was still with them.

It was going to be a long night indeed.

* * *

Harry gasped as the fog began to leave his mind, his chest tightening in a now familiar pain and his body covered in a light sweat. Consciousness pulled at the edges of his mind, but he tried desperately to force it away, the throbbing ache that seemed to run through his whole body almost too much to bear. He couldn't take it, the pain was overwhelming, particularly in his chest and down his throat.

Harry's lungs felt as if they were on fire, and his throat felt so hoarse and raw that he almost ached for something as simple as a glass of water. It seemed impossible to breathe, and each breath of air that he managed to pull in was like a struggle against an intense force. In fact, it took a few seconds for anything _but _the pain to resister. He couldn't move, he couldn't even open his eyes. It seemed as if something had grabbed hold of his body and had weakened it so much that he was trapped in his own mind. Panic began to overcome him, and it forced him fully awake, even if he couldn't seem to find the energy to open his eyes. Slowly, and with great effort, Harry pushed the pain away as best he could. Only confusion though, not relief, took its place.

What had happened? And where in Merlin's name was he?

Fogginess filled his mind, coupled with an ache in his lungs that seemed to dull all other senses, but Harry pushed past it as panic reached epic levels. He hated feeling weak, but even worse was the vulnerability he felt at the moment. If he had been captured, he had no defence. This thought stilled all others and gave Harry the clarity of mind that he had desperately needed from the moment he had woken up. Eventually, memories began to trickle through, filling in some of the gaps of his mind, but they did little to bring the teenager any relief. He recalled the illness, the pain of not being able to breathe, and the last thing he had seen before the blackness had claimed him...

Snape.

His breathing quickened, causing his chest to tighten even more, but this time it was not in panic. It was in outright fear. He had collapsed in Potions. In Snape's lesson. Merlin, the man was probably furious. Harry didn't have any respect for Snape, but that didn't mean that Harry wanted to get on the man's bad side. In truth, Harry had always gone out of his way to avoid the Potions Professor. The Head of Slytherin always had a way of making Harry feel weak and small, and he hated it. Hated him, and yet feared what the man was capable of.

Harry forced himself to calm down, but the difficulty he had with his breathing did little to relax him. Deciding to focus on something, _anything, _else, Harry tried to work out where he was. Hospital Wing probably...

He groaned and tried to open his eyes again but they seemed heavier than he had ever thought possible and he quickly tired of the effort. Slowly, fear began to rise up in him again, an effect made worse by the weakness that ravaged his body. He felt as if he had been tortured; every nerve ending felt raw, and his lungs felt like they would give up at any moment. He could feel a comfortable mattress beneath his back, but he was certain that the last time he'd been awake, he'd been in the Potions classroom. All he knew was that he most certainly wasn't there any more. The pain in his chest grew with his panic, and he felt a wave of excruciating pain flow through his body from his chest. When would this end...?

"Potter..."

A voice called his name, but he clenched his eyes shut even tighter, his hands gripping the sheets he was lying on as he rode through the pain. It was never-ending. Harry was no stranger to pain, but this was like nothing he had ever felt before. It took over every part of the body, and he felt himself losing a part of his own sense of self - all he was aware of was pain.

"Potter, calm down."

He recognised that voice. Somewhere, amidst the swirling pain that made up his consciousness, Harry recognised that voice. He didn't know who it was, but the simple fact that he wasn't alone was enough at the moment.

"Hurts," he mumbled hoarsely, hoping desperately that whoever it was would offer him some sort of relief. He couldn't take it any more.

"You need to calm down," the voice said. "You are making it worse. You need to breathe normally. Take a deep breath."

Harry didn't want to argue with the stern voice, so he forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, before releasing it slowly. After a few minutes of this forced breathing, eventually the pain receded to more of a dull throb and it was much easier for him to take in air, although his chest was still tender. What was going on?

"That's it," the voice told him, and Harry felt a little relief finally enter his mind.

"What...happened?" Harry whispered hoarsely. He still hadn't opened his eyes, but he hoped whoever had helped him was still there now. He needed answers.

"You are very sick, Potter," the voice replied. "You were poisoned."

Poisoned. Abesntly, Harry realised that that revelation should have probably shocked him more, but in _his_ life it wasn't actually that strange a concept to grasp. There were plenty of people around that would be quite happy to see him dead. Harry, though he obviously didn't like it, had grown used to the idea, and now simply accepted it as part and parcel of his life.

"How long have you been feeling ill, Potter?" asked the voice.

Harry thought hard, pushing against the fog as it began to rear up again. "Couple...of weeks."

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Harry was sure he heard someone mutter 'Idiot boy'. He must have been mistaken though. It had sounded like...

Snape.

Harry snapped his eyes open finally, blinking furiously as the candlelight hit them. Slowly, and with great difficulty, Harry turned to face the place where the voice had been coming from, panic barely being kept at bay in his mind. His heart rate quickened as he blinked, trying to clear his vision of the blurriness that he suffered from when he wasn't wearing his glasses. His worst fears were soon confirmed, however.

Even without his glasses, Harry could just make out the greasy hair and lanky form of his Potions Professor, sat right next to his bedside.

"Snape," he gasped hoarsely.

* * *

Snape rolled his eyes, but inside worry was creeping up on him again. Poppy had warned him that Potter would be in a lot of pain when he woke up, but it was another thing altogether to witness it.

"Potter, calm down," he repeated. As much as he didn't like the boy, he didn't want Potter to die. The teenager was clearly panicking - something that wasn't completely unreasonable when taking into account the fact that he _had_ woken up in a strange place, and in excruciating pain no less - but with Poppy absent, it was up to Snape to get the boy to relax and go back to sleep. It was a task he wasn't particularly looking forward to.

Green eyes darted up to meet black ones, and Snape felt his breath stop in his lungs. Those eyes, Lily's eyes, were filled with so much pain, and confusion, and _fear, _that he felt the beginnings of pity form within him, something he hadn't felt for years. Potter looked so pitiful in that moment, so unlike James Potter had _ever _looked, that Snape was momentarily shocked into silence. It took him far longer than he would ever admit to gather himself once again, but he did so eventually.

Turning away from the boy, mainly to avoid looking into those eyes, Snape moved over to the table where he had placed the potions earlier. He glanced back to the boy, who was by now trying to pull himself up on the bed, and debated whether he should give the teenager the first three potions that Poppy had mentioned or whether he should leave them for now. Potter shouldn't _be_ awake though, Snape reminded himself, so that left only one option.

Dreamless Sleep.

Potter was still struggling, albeit weakly, to get up out of bed, and Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead grabbing the final potion on the table before marching back towards the boy. He kept his face carefully blank, projecting a calm on the outside that he certainly didn't feel on the inside. It would do no good to scare the boy, as much as it had always given him satisfaction to do so.

"Potter, stop trying to get up," Snape ordered, his tone firm but without his usually hate-filled glare for once. Potter flinched slightly at Snape's voice, but mercifully did as he was told. Potter had probably realised that he was still too weak to attempt an escape just yet, and Snape found himself grateful for small mercies. "Madame Pomfrey has done what she can, but your lungs still need time to recover properly. You need to rest."

"Not tired," Potter muttered stubbornly. The boy closed his eyes once again, but Snape thought that might have more to do with avoiding his Potions Professor's sharp gaze than with an actual attempt to sleep.

"The pain will not be so bad if you go back to sleep," Snape said firmly, resisting the urge to snap at the stubborn Gryffindor for being an idiot. He had an idea what was bothering the boy - Poppy's warnings of nightmares came back to him - but if Potter could just stop being stubborn for one second, maybe they could both get some much needed rest. To that end, Snape held up the final potion. "If you so desire, you may have a Dreamless Sleep potion."

The boy opened his eyes again, and looked at Snape with exhaustion and pain almost emanating from his very eyes. After a long moment, in which the pros and cons of such an action were no doubt heavily debated in the boy's head, Potter finally nodded. It seemed that the pain had finally gotten the better of him, something that for once, Snape couldn't blame him for.

"Here," Snape offered, putting the vial next to the boy's lips so that he could take a swallow. "Now lie back down and sleep. The pain should be better when you wake up. I will explain more then."

The boy, mercifully, did as he was told for once. He blinked twice before his eyes fell shut, and Snape placed the vial back on the table as the boy finally relaxed. Potter's breathing evened out again, and the creases in his forehead smoothed out, making Potter look much younger. Or much more like his age. Potter was only fifteen after all, Snape reminded himself. A child still, really.

He frowned as he looked at the boy, finally restful in sleep. Potter rarely looked so relaxed, something that Snape had never really noticed before. Maybe the boy wasn't quite as sure of himself as Snape had always thought. It was yet another thing he would have to consider further when the boy woke up properly tomorrow.

Satisfied that all was well with Potter for now, Snape turned away from the bed and grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the wardrobe. He would have to sleep on the couch tonight, although he would certainly remedy that when the boy had sufficiently recovered.

For now, he was just glad of the chance to get some shut-eye. Tomorrow would be another long, exhausting day, there was no doubt about it. His plan would soon be put in place to fool Umbridge and the rest of the students into thinking Potter had made a complete and full recovery. All he would have to worry about then, assuming the ruse worked of course, was the problem of Potter himself.

Wearily, Snape lay down and finally allowed his body to relax.

Potter was a problem for another day.

* * *

**A/N- **So how was it? This was a slightly longer chapter than the others, and quite a significant one. Harry has finally woken up, but of course didn't get much in the way of answers and explanations from Snape. That will come more in the next chapter though, don't worry.

For now, I hope you liked where the stories at, and I especially hope that Snape, Harry and Poppy were all relatively in character. Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!


	6. The Recovery

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N- **Hello my wonderful readers! Thank you so much for your responses to the last chapter. Hopefully this newest installment lives up to your high expectations. A lot of you wanted more interaction between Severus and Harry, and that's just what you're about to get! There'll be some more answers in this chapter, but a lot more questions as well. I hope you like it!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Recovery**

* * *

Early the next morning, Harry finally cracked his tired eyes open, his brain stuffy with the after-effects of a long, dreamless sleep. Darkness hit his vision, and for a terrifying moment, Harry thought that he'd gone blind, the blackness almost overwhelming. His eyes darted around in panic before eventually falling on a faint beam of light on the ceiling, presumably was coming from the door of the room. Relief flooded through him at the sight, confirming that he could in fact still see, even despite the blurriness that still plagued him without his glasses.

Harry tried to work out exactly what his eyes were seeing, confusion filling his thoughts, but as he shifted slightly on the bed to try to see it better, pain stabbed at his chest and it was all Harry could do to keep from crying out. It was a long moment before Harry could even remember why his body hurt so much, but when he did, sickening revelations came upon him one by one. He tried to take a deep breath to calm down, but the fact that he still felt far too weak to even move his head did not do much to settle his nerves. His heart beat quickened and his eyes darted around the room in slight panic as memories of the night before finally filtered through the fogginess left behind by the Dreamless Sleep potion.

Pain. Poison. Snape.

Opening his eyes more fully as they began to adjust to the dark, Harry tried to drag his aching body so that he was sitting up on the bed. Although he felt better than he had all through last night, weakness still ravaged his limbs, and it was with a frustrated groan that Harry struggled to get his limbs to obey him. After a few moments, in which he tried, almost to his limits, to push through the pain and weakness, Harry gave up, too tired to even manage that small task. He had managed to shift slightly so that his head was leaning up against the backboard of the bed, but he couldn't seem to find the energy to pull himself up fully. Shame rose up in him, but that was soon replaced by fear and apprehension, the likes of which he had rarely felt before.

Looking around himself, Harry could see that he was in what looked like a dark bedroom, but beyond that he could infer little else, hindered by the fact that he was still without his glasses. One strange thought that struck Harry though, even despite his limited vision, was that the room reminded him slightly of the Potion's classroom, or of the dungeons at any rate.

Was that where he was?

Despite the lack of a window, the place didn't seem as cold as the dungeons though; now that his eyes were adjusting more to the darkness, Harry could see that it was in fact decorated quite tastefully, with bookcases lining the walls and a warm fireplace on the other side of the room, a dying fire in its hearth.

The bed he was lying on was a four-poster, not unlike his own in the Gryffindor dorms. Not for the first time, Harry hoped desperately that he was still in Hogwarts. He wasn't in the Hospital Wing, that much he knew for sure, and that thought scared him slightly. Surely, if he'd been as sick as he suspected, he should be in the care of Madame Pomfrey? All he remembered, apart from some disjointed memories of Snape and of excruciating pain, was fainting in the Potion's lesson. How long ago had that been?

Harry groaned slightly as the pain in his chest reared up again. Questions filled his mind, his anxiousness adding to the constant ache that had settled in his chest. He hated feeling weak, but even worse was the feeling of vulnerability, and in Harry's mind there was nothing more vulnerable than not knowing what was going in.

He racked his brain, furiously trying to work out what he could remember, what he could be certain of from of the disjointed fragments of last night that he could recall. Although he knew it had been real, last night had seemed more like a nightmare than reality. Pain, excruciating pain had ravaged every inch of his body, at some points even worse than the Cruciatus Curse. It had felt never-ending, and it had taken all his energy to stop himself screaming out for someone to save him, for someone to take away his suffering. He had wanted it to end, he had wanted to die...

Eventually the haze had lifted, briefly at least, and the relief he had felt in that moment was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Strangely, he recalled Snape had been there at that point, and Harry was sure the man had spoken to him. Almost as if he was reliving it, Snape's words came back to Harry, even as he lay unmoving on the strange bed.

_"You were poisoned."_

Was that really the reason he had been feeling so weak lately? Someone had been poisoning him? Despair welled up in him and he fought the urge to cry with every ounce of strength he had left. Tears were for the weak, and he refused to be weak. He refused to let them, whoever had done this to him, take away his dignity too.

His chest throbbed in time to his beating heart, but Harry pushed through the pain as best he could. He'd been through worse, and he'd likely go through even worse before the end. He wasn't naïve. Voldemort had tried to kill _him_ when he'd been only a year old, not anyone else, and the bastard had kidnapped _him _only last year. Voldemort, for whatever reason, seemed to have targeted_ him_, and Harry knew that one day the evil Wizard would get what he wanted.

As he stared at the dark ceiling of the unfamiliar room, he considered his situation; his life. Harry knew he was living on borrowed time, and had been since the moment he had escaped that graveyard only last year. One day, Harry would have to face the bastard, he knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise every morning. He knew he should be scared, but in truth, all he felt was numb. Because honestly, what could he do? He was fifteen years old and not even the best in the year. There was only one way that confrontation would end...

Harry pushed that thought away with a force that drained even more of his limited energy. He'd been doing a good job of avoiding that particular avenue of thought so far, and he didn't think he could handle giving it any more consideration now.

He had enough to be worrying about.

Harry tried to steady his breathing and calm his heart; he was terrified, but he couldn't afford to panic. Steadying his shaky hands, Harry tried once again to pull himself up more fully. He needed to know where he was, and he needed to know what was going on. He was clearly alone in this room, the silence almost oppressive, so Harry decided he needed to find someone to give him some answers.

Almost as if the fates had heard his thoughts, the door began to slowly creep open. Panicking, despite his earlier thoughts, Harry lay back down as soon as the noise hit his ears, slamming his eyes shut as he tried to even his breathing. Harry had learned long ago, from his many experiences at the Dursleys, that it was better for an intruder to think you were asleep. It had always given him vital time to work out the threat, and prepare himself if necessary.

Harry clung to his instincts now and tried to act as if he was asleep, his ears straining to pick up anything about the person who was slowly making their way over to his bed. When the person stopped, just beside his bed, it was all Harry could do to stop his beating heart from thudding out of his chest.

"Potter, I know you are awake."

Harry's breathing hitched, causing another sting to attack his lungs, but he stayed perfectly still, trying desperately to place the voice of the man beside him. His brain, still slightly foggy with the after-effects of sleep, took longer than usual to register it, but when he finally did, it did nothing to calm him down.

Snape.

Harry snapped his eyes open, his vision darting around the now lit room until it met the form of his Professor. Even with his blurred vision, there was no mistaking that greasy black hair, or that hooked nose.

"Where am I?" Harry rasped, his throat incredibly sore. The pain of talking and breathing was not nearly as bad as it had been in the past week or so, but something was clearly still wrong, and Harry needed answers, even if there was only Snape, a person who hated his guts, to give them to him.

"I will answer you questions later," Snape told him firmly, and to Harry's confusion, it seemed as if the man was making a monumental effort to be patient.

The Potion's Professor moved closer to him, and Harry had to force himself to repress a flinch as Snape raised a hand and reached over to Harry's face. He closed his eyes, half expecting a blow, but instead he felt the cool metal of his glasses as they were placed gently on his face. Harry opened his eyes and blinked, his now clear gaze moving over to look at the Potion's Professor in confusion. This was so out of character for Snape, who had hated Harry from the moment he had laid eyes on him, that Harry felt apprehension and fear build up within him. What would make Snape, the great git of the dungeons, be almost _nice _to him? It must be serious, Harry thought as his breathing caught in his chest.

Was he dying?

"Potter," snapped Snape, interrupting Harry's thoughts, and Harry's horror-filled eyes flicked back to the Professor. "There are some potions that you are required to take, now that you have returned to the land of the living. Drink them now."

Harry shook his head, his breathing hitching slightly as he tried to contain his panic. "No. Tell me what's going on. What happened to me? Am I going to die?"

Harry coughed slightly as his raw throat was irritated by his words, but Harry didn't regret it. He had to know. If he was dying he had a right to know how long he had left.

"Don't be stupid, Potter," replied Snape, frustration colouring his tone. "Stop being dramatic."

So he wasn't dying? Harry tried to clear him throat, ready to ask another set of questions, but Snape silenced him with a quick glare. Instead of saying anything though, Snape simply pushed to vial of potion to Harry's lips, forcing Harry to drink it. Harry spluttered slightly as the disgusting concoction made its way down his raw throat, but he was given no time to recover before Snape followed it up with another potion. Once the third potion had finally been swallowed, Harry felt the pain in his chest begin to lessen slightly. His body still felt weak, but he did feel better than he had only moments ago. Not that he was going to admit that to Snape...

Harry pulled himself up on the bed, resting his back against the backboard as he tried to catch his breath. Snape didn't move from his position beside the bed, but his brow seemed to be furrowed slightly in concern. Harry looked around himself, desperate for some sort of clue as to where he was, but he could see nothing. Panic rose up in him again, not helped by the proximity of the Potions Professor, and Harry found himself suddenly desperate to leave.

"Look, Snape," Harry tried, his voice still hoarse. "Just give me a Pepper Up or something, and I'll go."

"That's _Professor _Snape, Potter," Snape replied angrily. "And you will not be going anyway. As much as I loathe the idea, you must stay in my quarters."

"Your quarters...?" Realisation hit Harry, but the answer to the question that had been bothering him since the moment he had woken up only made him panic more. Why was he in Snape's quarters of all places?

"You took ill in my lesson," Snape explained with a scowl, having obviously noticed Harry's horror-filled eyes. "You were stabilised, but we could not take you to the Hospital Wing. My quarters were closest."

"But why?" Harry asked desperately. "I'm fine now, so I don't need to be here. Why am I still here?"

"You were poisoned, Potter," Snape sneered. "Or has your tiny brain forgotten that fact already?"

"No," Harry answered angrily, clenching his fists slightly.

"You cannot leave," Snape continued, talking as if to a small child. "Because not only do we not know _who _poisoned you, but we also do not know _how _they administered it. Until we do, we cannot afford to have you wandering the halls."

"How do I know that I'm safe here?" Harry countered, angry about the insult, but unable to argue with Snape's logic. "You've never exactly been shy in letting me know that you hate me."

"I did not poison you, you idiot," Snape replied, equally angrily.

"How do I know?" Harry replied, his voice even more hoarse now that he was raising his volume. "You seem like the kind of man who would favour poison..."

Snape glared at Harry, and the teenager felt himself shrink back, almost against his will.

"I saved your life last night, Potter, Snape hissed. "Do not forget it."

"How I know you saved me?" Harry asked bravely, clenching his fists to steady his faintly shaking hands. Now that he was sitting up, Harry felt a little less vulnerable, but without his wand he knew he'd never be able to protect himself from an attack. Harry took a deep breath to calm himself; he didn't want to seem weak in front of the Potions master.

"You have no choice but to trust me, Potter," Snape told him angrily. "Dumbledore is not here and, as I have already explained, you cannot leave. This is your only option. I suggest you accept it."

Harry's mind was whirring, sense warring with panic, fear with weakness. He knew he was still sick, he could feel it in his very bones, but another part of him half wanted to just take his chances on his own.

"Where's Madame Pomfrey?" Harry asked somewhat desperately.

"She is busy," Snape answered unsympathetically. "She will no doubt find time to visit you later, but for now, you will have to settle for me."

"Why?" Harry repeated hoarsely.

"Because of Umbridge, you idiot boy!" Snape snapped. "Do you honestly think that we are unaware of her vendetta against you? If she so much as got an inkling that you were ill, she would have you shipped off to St Mungo's within the hour. As much as your presence annoys me, you are safer here."

"What about Voldemort?" Harry gasped, as pain unexpectedly flared up in his chest, serving only to remind him of how ill he really was.

Snape seemed surprised. "What do you mean, Potter?"

"Everyone will know I fainted," Harry replied, a faint trace of disgust entering his voice. "Even if Umbridge doesn't know where I am, it doesn't really matter. Some Death Eater wannabe will tell him I'm weak, and he'll attack the school. You need to let me leave."

"Have you forgotten about the poisoner already, Potter?"

Harry growled with frustration. "It doesn't matter! He'll attack the school if he thinks I'm weak! I'd rather take my chances with poison than risk Voldemort coming to Hogwarts."

"You will be killed."

"Better me than anyone else," Harry replied, meeting Snape's eyes without hesitation.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but his expression seemed devoid of his usual loathing. "Luckily for you, it will not come to that."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked hoarsely, slightly taken aback by the comment.

"We have a plan in place," Snape said simply. "An Order member will take your place. Their presence will give the appearance that you have recovered overnight."

"How?" Harry asked. Unless... "Polyjuice Potion."

Snape inclined his head in confirmation. "They will act like you. They will look like you. For all intents and purposes, until you have recovered, and until we have caught whoever is trying to kill you, they will _be _you."

Snape glared at Harry, almost daring him to argue, but Harry couldn't fault the man's plan. Except...

"It's dangerous," Harry protested. "If we don't know how I was poisoned, there's no way we can protect anyone pretending to be me. I can't ask anyone to do that for me!"

"It is about more than you, you imbecile!" Snape snapped. "The Dark Lord will not hesitate to attack if he thinks you are weakened. The Headmaster is not here, Potter. He cannot protect Hogwarts if there is an attack. You must appear strong. Unharmed."

"Who?" Harry asked, apprehension building in him. He had to know. "Who's taking my place?"

"Enough questions," Snape snapped. "I have a lesson to prepare for, and as much as I detest the mere thought of it, I will have to leave you alone here."

"But -"

"Enough!" Snape growled. "Listen to me, Potter. Do not get out out of bed unless you need the bathroom, which can be found through that door. Do not explore my quarters, and do not touch my possessions."

Snape stalked over to the door, ignoring Harry's obvious displeasure with the orders he had been given. Snape opened the door before turning back to Harry, a glare clear on his expression.

"Rest, Potter," Snape ordered. "You might be over the worst of it, but you will feel the effects for some time. Either Madame Pomfrey or myself will check on you in a few hours. Stay out of trouble."

"What am I supposed to do until then?" Harry scowled, as he looked around the room.

"Rest, Potter," Snape sneered. "I'm even you can manage that."

With that parting insult, Snape swept through the door without so much as a glance towards Harry, shutting it firmly behind him.

Harry was alone once again, though instead of feeling reassured by the fact that he was a little more aware of what was going on, in truth all he had now were more questions than answers.

* * *

**A/N- **So what did you think? I'm nervous about this chapter, because it's the first time we really see any extended interaction between Snape and Harry. I tried to keep them both in character, but I'm not entirely sure I succeeded. In fact, even though I've reread it a couple of times, I'm not even convinced that their conversation flows or even makes sense. It definitely isn't my favourite chapter so far, but I hope you liked it anyway. Please let me know what you think!


	7. The Deal

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N- **I'm back! I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up, but not only have I been extremely busy writing a dissertation for my university course, but my computer was also wiped, thereby destroying whatever brief progress I'd actually made on this story. I hope this chapter will make it up to you all though - it isn't my best, but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Deal**

* * *

When Harry next woke up, it was dark.

He blinked slowly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, a small part of his tired mind hoping that he was back in Gryffindor tower and that yesterday had been nothing but a nightmare. His vision swam slightly as he tried to get hold of his senses, and Harry tapered down the instinct to panic as best he could, telling himself that none of it had been real. Snape, the illness, the antidote; it had all been a horrible dream…

Harry knew though, even before he saw as Snape's quarters came more into focus, that it had been horrifyingly real. The slight pain that he felt every time he took a breath was enough to tell him that the illness had been no dream. The tightness in his chest had mostly gone – and he was thankful for that at least – but his limbs, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, still felt weak and useless.

Poison, his exhausted mind supplied. He'd been poisoned.

That fact hadn't quite sunk in yet, and Harry did his best not to think about it now. In his experience, it was always better not to dwell on the bad things that happened to him, especially when there wasn't a whole lot he could do about the situation. It wasn't as if he knew who was trying to kill him, and there was no way he would be up to finding out, not yet at least. Harry growled in frustration as he tried to pull himself up on the unfamiliar bed; all he wanted, for once, was to actually know what was going on, rather than being forced to try and find out for himself.

For years, Harry had taken care of himself. He had practically raised himself before Hogwarts, and once he had joined the Wizarding World, nothing had really changed. Yes, he had the Weasleys, and Sirius, and even some of his Professors, but in truth, no one was really ever there for him when he needed them. They always arrived too late to give him the answers he craved and needed, too late to protect what little innocence he might have left. Too late to save him.

They'd always got there just that little bit too late.

Well, except….for Snape.

Snape had saved his life yesterday. Harry hadn't wanted to believe it, but when Madame Pomfrey had come to check on him that afternoon, she had confirmed what Snape had told him.

Harry didn't really know what to do with that information, though. On the one hand, Snape _was _a teacher; it was his duty to protect the students in his care so it wasn't all that surprising that he had saved one of his pupils. On the other hand, Snape was also a git, who had made it clear that he hated Harry from the moment he had set eyes on him.

So why in Merlin's name had Snape saved his life?

With a weariness that would be better found in an old war veteran than a fifteen year old boy, Harry forced his mind to focus on the here and now, instead of dwelling too much on the things he didn't know. He needed answers and despite the weakness that still ravaged his limbs, Harry knew that it was up to him to go and get them. Just like always.

Supressing a cough, Harry glanced around the dark bedroom, his mind working furiously. Harry cursed Dumbledore under his breath as he tried to think of any way out of this situation that didn't involve Umbridge shipping him off to St Mungo's. Vaguely, Harry recalled Snape telling him that he was stuck here, in _Snape's quarters, _until the poisoner had been found and until he had recovered enough. He hoped, with a desperation that made his lung clench slightly in panic, that it wasn't true, that Snape had been lying to him. There had to be another option, somewhere else he could go…

Harry clenched his fists as he forced desperation away. There was nothing, no solution he could think of. He was stuck here at the mercy of Snape and there wasn't a bloody thing he could do about it.

Cold sweat dripped down his clammy skin, and Harry swiped at it before pulling himself up. He'd been assured by Madame Pomfrey that all traces of the poison had left his system, but he still felt weak and horrible. She'd told him that he needed to rest, but he'd done nothing _but _sleep since he'd had the antidote, and yet still his body felt weaker than it had after enduring the Crutiatus.

Well, maybe not quite that weak, Harry admitted as he swung his legs off the bed. To the side of the bed, Harry saw his glasses, and he quickly picked them up and put them on, relieved that he would not have to stumble around an unfamiliar place half-blind.

Harry pulled himself shakily to his feet, holding on to the bed as his world swam dangerously. He persevered though, even in spite of his body's protests. He was sick of being kept in the dark; it was time for some answers.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry staggered over to the door, the brief trip taking more out of him than he'd expected. Without dwelling on his doubts about this plan too much, just in case he talked himself out of it, Harry tested the door. To his surprise and relief, Harry found that it was unlocked.

Finally something was going his way.

Slowly, Harry pulled the door open, careful to make as little noise as possible. He poked his head around the door, his heart beating loudly in his chest, but thankfully he saw nothing but a dark corridor on the other side, one that presumably led to the rest of the quarters.

Mercifully, there was no sign of Snape.

Nervousness flooded through his veins as he crept through the threshold, hardly daring to breath, but Harry pushed the feeling away as best he could. As he made his way into a small corridor, Harry tried to level his breathing. The tightness in his chest had begun to return, and a traitorous part of his mind reminded him that Madame Pomfrey had expressly told him to rest.

This was certainly not what she had in mind, and Harry dreaded to think what she would do if she found out that he had been up and about so soon. Handcuff him to the bedpost probably.

Harry gulped subconsciously, but forced the traitorous thought to the back of his mind. He had to know what was going on. He needed answers.

The corridor was dark, but Harry noticed a small beam of light coming from one of the doors on his right. He moved slowly towards it, straining his ears as he began to hear a voice coming from the room. He pressed his ear against the wood, trying to ignore the loud beating of his heart as he strained to hear what they were saying.

He recognised the speaker immediately. It was Snape.

"Anything to report?" Snape asked, presumably talking to a second person in the room. Harry's ears pricked at the mention of a report.

"Nothing suspicious so far," replied the unknown person, male by the sound of it. It sounded vaguely familiar. A thought hit Harry's tired mind.

It couldn't be….

"I have a detention with Umbridge later," the voice continued, and it finally hit Harry who he was listening to. He cursed himself for not having realised it earlier.

The voice belonged to himself.

"…apparently that was something Harry already owed her," the other Harry continued. "He's in detention all week."

It was the strangest sensation, Harry thought absently as he tried to work past the shock of hearing himself speak from another room, and a part of Harry wondered if he'd gone mad. In fact, if he hadn't already been told that someone would be using polyjuice to look like him, he probably would have checked _himself_ into St Mungo's, never mind Umbridge.

Polyjuice.

Thoughts and memories trickled back into his exhausted mind, and Harry pressed his ear harder against the wood, half-steadying himself as a brief spell of dizziness came over him. This must be the Order member, Harry realised, once the spell had passed enough for him to think clearly again. This must be the person brought in to pretend to be him.

"Keep an eye open, then," Snape replied tersely, apparently dismissing the other Harry.

"Will do," the imposter replied, and Harry wracked his mind to see if he could place the speech patterns at least. The imposter seemed to have been chosen well though; they sounded just like him.

"How is Harry?" they asked.

"Recovering," Snape replied bluntly, and Harry had to supress a snort at the answer. With his ear pressed against the door as he eavesdropped, recovering was the last thing Harry had any intention of doing. Not that Snape knew that of course.

"Good," his double said cheerfully. "Tell him to keep his head up. It'll be over soon."

Snape didn't answer, but Harry could almost imagine the man inclining his head slightly in that creepy way of his.

"Okay," his double said uncomfortably, confirming Harry's theory somewhat. "I'll let you know how the detention goes."

Harry heard himself leave, and then there was silence. He was just about to creep back to his room so that he could ponder on everything he had heard, when he heard footsteps coming towards the door he was leaning against.

Before he could even react, the door was yanked open and Harry stumbled forward. Blinking as the bright light from the room hit his unadjusted eyes, Harry barrelled forward, his momentum taking him crashing into the last person he wanted to see.

With a snarl that sent shivers up Harry's spine, Snape forcibly grabbed hold of his shoulder, steadying him whilst at the same time pulling him fully into the room.

"Eavesdropping, Potter," Snape snarled. Harry snapped his eyes up in defiance, meeting Snape's gaze without any remorse. He refused to back down now that he had come so far. He wanted answers and he wasn't going to leave until he got them.

"Who was that?" Harry asked, ignoring Snape's warning tone.

"It was you, of course," sneered Snape, frustrated it seemed by the lack of contrition in his student.

Harry was not to be deterred. "Which Order member was that?"

"That is none of your business, Potter," Snape snapped, the expression on his face murderous. "Why are you out of bed?"

"I have a right to know what's going on," Harry argued, his voice still hoarse from illness. "It's my life you're talking about!"

If looks could kill, Harry would be dead already, and the teenager subconsciously stepped back as he took in the glare that was being levelled at him. Harry had been perfectly prepared to piss Snape off in his quest for answers, but a slight bit of panic rose up in him now, faced as he was by an irate Potions Master. Not for the first time, Harry realised how truly vulnerable he was here. He was completely at Snape's mercy.

"How do you feel, Potter?" Snape said suddenly, completely taking Harry by surprise.

"I…erm…"

"How. Do. You. Feel?" Snape repeated, talking as if he was speaking to a small infant. Harry flushed slightly, but he refused to be affected by Snape's behaviour otherwise.

"I'm fine," Harry replied stubbornly, straightening his stance slightly in an attempt to seem like he wasn't lying to the man. In truth though, his lungs felt like they were on fire, and his legs felt as if any minute now they would collapse.

"You are lying," Snape replied with a frown, taking in the sweat falling from Harry's face as he continued to attempt to keep up the pretence. "You need to rest."

"I was resting," Harry muttered defiantly.

"By eavesdropping?" Snape said dangerously.

"I woke up," Harry mumbled. "I didn't want to go back to sleep. I need to know what's going on."

To Harry's great surprise, Snape sighed wearily and ran a hand through his long, greasy hair. Now that Harry looked, really looked, he could see the signs of utter exhaustion on the Potions Professor's face. Harry might have despised the man, but Snape _had _saved his life last night, and for the first time, a smidgeon of guilt made its way into Harry's mind. It must have been a least a day since he had fainted in Potions class. Had Snape even slept since then?

"Enough," Snape snapped angrily to himself, apparently coming to the conclusion of some sort of internal argument with himself. He turned to face Harry once again. "Follow me. You need to eat."

Warily, Harry followed Snape into the next room, barely disguising his curiosity as his eyes drank in the new location. The living room he had left behind led into a surprisingly normal looking kitchen. The walls were still stone, reminding Harry once again that he was in the dungeons of the castle, but apart from that it didn't seem all that different from the kitchen he had grown up with back at the Dursleys' house. It just didn't seem right that Snape's quarters were almost…normal. Harry had always thought the man ought to live in a cave or something…

"Sit," Snape ordered, pointing to a chair at the small kitchen table as he himself went to sort out the food. Harry tensely did as he was told, trying desperately to keep away the weakness that was threatening to overwhelm him. He dropped tiredly into the chair, almost collapsing onto it, but thankfully Snape hadn't noticed, too focused on heating up two plates of food.

Two plates. It finally dawned on him, his tired brain taking longer to work than usual. Snape was going to eat _with _him, it seemed.

Without a word, Snape carried over two plates. Harry watched apprehensively as the Potions Professor placed a plate in front of him, before taking the seat furthest from Harry and sitting down himself.

"Eat," Snape said with a tone that brooked no argument.

Harry had hundreds of questions pounding through his mind, but he pushed them down. Snape had a look of unmistakable coldness on his face as the man began to eat his food, and Harry knew almost immediately that there would be no point in asking him any questions until after the meal at least.

Sighing slightly in frustration, Harry picked up his own fork and began to pick at his food. The chicken and potatoes looked appetising, as all food at Hogwarts always did, but Harry still didn't eat much. He knew he should be hungry, especially since he was still so weak, but even looking at the mashed potatoes was beginning to turn his stomach.

"Do you require a stomach calming draft?" Snape said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. The Potions Master seemed almost…concerned.

Harry shook his head and dropped his gaze back to his food, steeling himself to take a few more bites at least, anything to get the man to leave him alone. He suddenly very much wished that he had never even left the bedroom.

"Potter," Snape continued, frustration colouring his tone. "Madame Pomfrey noted during your examination that you were underweight for your age. Is lack of appetite a common problem?"

"I'm just not hungry, okay?" Harry muttered, dropping the fork onto the plate with a sigh.

"No," Snape replied shortly. "It is not 'okay'."

Snape got up abruptly, startling Harry, who had yet to meet the man's eyes. Snape left the room without another word, but before Harry could even think of escaping back to the bedroom, the man swept back into the room, his black robes billowing menacingly behind him. He placed the vial in front of Harry with a sharp tap, making it clear what he was expected to do.

"Drink that first," the man said warningly, his tone making it clear that it was not a suggestion but an order. "Then eat as much as you can."

Harry folded his arms stubbornly but made no move to pick up the vial. "Look, I'm fine. I don't need it."

"When was the last time you ate a full meal, Potter?" Snape asked abruptly, momentarily taking Harry by surprised.

"I don't – "

"Let me rephrase that in terms your infantile brain might understand," Snape sneered. "When was the last time you felt hungry enough to finish everything on your plate?"

"I don't know," Harry replied tightly, folding his arms protectively over his chest. The man was making it sound as if he was purposefully choosing not to eat. The truth was though, Harry just hadn't had much time to eat, and when he had found time, his constant worries had left his stomach unsettled to the point that every bite tasted like sawdust. He'd had plenty of practice without food at the Dursleys' though, so it hadn't bothered him overly much. He been through worse after all. Harry just didn't understand why Snape cared whether he ate or not.

"You don't know," Snape repeated, talking as if Harry's answer had confirmed a suspicion in the man's mind.

"I don't know," Harry repeated shortly, his gaze dropping to the table. Why couldn't the git just leave him alone?

"Drink it, Potter," Snape sighed wearily. "It will help. I refuse to answer any of your questions until you have at least eaten a reasonable amount. Madame Pomfrey has left strict instructions."

"Where is she?" Harry asked, stalling for time.

"Busy," Snape replied somewhat nastily, making it clear that Harry was alone here. There would be no one on his side, no one to force Snape to be fair. He had no choice to follow the man's rules, because if he didn't he might never know what was going on. He doubted the man would make it possible for him to eavesdrop a second time.

"If I drink this," Harry began, gesturing to the vial, "Will you tell me who the Order member is at least?"

"That does not concern you, Potter," Snape countered immediately.

"Yes it does," Harry argued. "It's me they're pretending to be. It's my life they're protecting. I deserve to know who's risking their life for me."

"Drink it, Potter," Snape ordered, ignoring Harry's brief tirade with barely concealed boredom. "Since you will no doubt continue to whine unless I divulge something of the plan, I will tell you what I know so far, but only if you eat the meal."

The potion's master said nothing further, and Harry turned over the man's words in his head. Harry ignored the veiled insult in the Potion's Master's speech, too used to the jibes for it to have any effect any longer. Instead, he focused on what the man had actually offered.

It seemed oddly accommodating of the Professor to actually offer to explain what was going on. Harry, despite continuing to argue vehemently, had not expected the man to cave so easily. Or at all, really. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what was going on with the man. He seemed…different.

Harry chanced a glance over to Snape. When green eyes met black, Harry forced himself not to flinch away. He refused to be intimidated.

"Fine," Harry muttered eventually, picking up the vial, curiosity finally getting the better of him. He had to know what was going on.

With a shaky hand, Harry pulled the vial up to his lips and drank the potion down, grimacing at the taste. It truly was horrible, but instead of making him feel even more sick, instead he felt his stomach settle slightly. In fact, his appetite, for the first time in months, was slowly coming back.

Without looking at Snape, knowing without looking that the man would no doubt have a patronising smirk on his face, Harry picked up his fork again and began to eat, properly this time.

The food was cold, but delicious, and it didn't take Harry long to finish the plate. He debated whether to lick the plate clean just to annoy Snape, but he felt that it was probably pushing it a bit. The man looked angry enough already and there was no sense in aggravating him further. Not when there were answers to be given.

"So," Harry prompted as he placed his fork back on the plate, trying not to quake under the man's glare. "Tell me."

"Tell you what, Potter?" Snape said, apparently feigning ignorance.

"Tell me what's going on," Harry carried on, undeterred by the man's tone. "Tell me the plan. In detail."

"I've changed my mind," Snape said suddenly, reaching over to take Harry's empty plate before returning it to the kitchen.

"What – you can't do that!" Harry replied indignantly. Snape turned to face him, but Harry forced himself not to quail under the icy look.

"I can do whatever I choose to do, Potter," Snape continued dangerously. "You are in my quarters now. You will do well to remember that."

"But you said – "

"I propose an exchange instead," Snape interrupted, stalking back over to take his place at the table once again.

That threw Harry slightly. "An exchange of what?"

"An exchange of information," Snape replied with a gleam in his eyes. Harry felt apprehension build up in him, almost against his will. What was Snape playing at?

"What do you mean?" Harry asked nervously.

"For every answer I give about 'what's going on', you will answer a question of my choosing."

"You can't do that!"

"And who will stop me?" Snape asked nastily. "Dumbledore is not here, Potter. I can do whatever I like."

"But – "

"Do we have a deal or not, Potter?" Snape interrupted, clearly frustrated. "This is a one-time offer. A question for a question."

Harry stared at the wooden table, his mind working furiously. Snape was right. He had no power here. He was trapped, too weak to escape and with nowhere to go even if he did. If the man chose not to tell him anything, there wasn't a lot Harry could do to make him. This…_deal_ seemed to be the only way to get the information he craved. Apprehension filled him at the thought of what questions might possibly ask, but Harry reassured himself slightly with the knowledge that he could always lie if a question was too uncomfortable for him to answer truthfully.

Snape seemed confident though. There was probably a catch, Harry realised, with a sinking feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the food he had just eaten. It seemed too simple.

Harry gulped, but steeled himself, determined not to show any weakness as his eyes rose steadily to meet those of the Potions Professor. He had no choice.

"Deal."

* * *

**A/N - **So, what do you think? Worth the wait? I know I've been building it up, but we'll finally get some answers in the next chapter. Not only will Harry learn a little more about the threat he's facing, but Snape will also get some of his own questions answered. Whether it changes anything, remains to be seen - you'll have to wait to find out!

I've got a rough idea of how the conversation will go between Snape and Harry in the next chapter, but if any of you have your own ideas or suggestions of what you would like to see, feel free to let me know. You never know, I might include them (giving appropriate credit of course).

Thanks for all your reviews and support. Hopefully I'm not letting you down! I truly appreciate it, so thanks for reading!


	8. The Questions

**********Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N**- Finally, I have returned. Sorry for the delay. My excuses range from illness, to laptop trouble, to a ten thousand word dissertation that needed to be written. Still, I apologise. Hopefully, although this is short, this chapter will live up to your high expectations. I loved all your reviews of the last chapter, and your enthusiasm in this story really does brighten my day. Hopefully, this instalment, in return, will brighten yours.

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Questions**

* * *

"Do you wish for a moment to prepare yourself?" Snape asked coldly, looking towards Harry's pyjamas and unruly hair with barely concealed disgust. Harry flushed, but raised his shoulders defiantly. He had been ill for Merlin's sake- what did it matter how he looked? He'd take a shower once he had his answers.

"I…can we just get this over with?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite his nerves. Already he was slightly regretting agreeing to this exchange, but once again his curiosity had won over his common sense.

"As you wish," Snape said, inclining his head. Harry gulped against his will at the look on the Professor's face. He looked like a predator about to catch his prey.

"So how does this work then?" Harry asked, determined not to quake under the look. "I answer one of your questions and in return I get to ask you something?"

"Firstly," Snape replied with a look of warning, "If you do not answer the questions to my satisfaction, this deal is no longer on the table. I will refuse to answer any of your questions and you will return to bed."

"But –"

"That is non-negotiable, Potter," interrupted the Potions Master irritably.

He levelled a glare at Harry that was so intense that Harry had to make an extra effort to return his gaze. There was no way he was going to get away with the half-answers he had planned on giving when Snape inevitably asked uncomfortable questions. Not for the first time, Harry cursed Dumbledore and everyone else who had left him to spend the next few days with the Slytherin Head. Not only was he weak and vulnerable because of this stupid poisoning, but now he had to deal with Snape nosing around in his business. Harry only hoped that Snape didn't ask anything _too _personal.

Harry held back a scoff at his own inner words. Snape being fair and reasonable? There was a greater chance of Voldemort wanting to be best mates forever.

Harry bit back a sigh. Apparently, he had no choice. Once again.

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly.

"Secondly," Snape continued as if Harry hadn't even spoken, "I reserve the right to refuse to answer any question you put forth, if doing so would reveal sensitive information that you need not know."

"What?" Harry exclaimed angrily. "So you can ask anything you want, and I _have_ to answer, but you can just pick and choose? How is that fair?"

"Who said anything about being fair, Potter?" Snape replied somewhat nastily. "Remember, I do not have to do this. I could refuse to answer any of your questions regardless of your feelings on the matter. There is no one else here who can answer them, so you curiosity would continue to go…unsatisfied."

Harry gritted his teeth in anger. "Fine," he ground out.

"I believe I shall go first," Snape began. Harry held his breath slightly as the Potions Professor seemed to gather his thoughts.

Snape fixed his eyes onto Harry. "Did you steel Gillyweed from my stores last year?"

The question was delivered bluntly with a glare, and Harry was slightly taken aback by it. Of all the things he had expected Snape to ask, this question hadn't even made the list. He shouldn't have been surprised though; Snape loved to get him in trouble after all.

"No, that wasn't me," Harry replied truthfully after a moment's pause. He met Snape's glare evenly, secure in the knowledge that he wasn't lying this time.

Snape looked surprised by his answer, and for a moment, Harry revelled in catching the Professor slightly off guard for once. His amusement, however, was short-lived.

"Who then, stole it on your behalf?" the Potions Master asked shrewdly.

Harry really did not want to answer that question, and he frantically tried to come up with some way to get out of it. Dobby had done a lot for him over the years, and he didn't want to get the elf into trouble.

"That's a different question," Harry pointed out, somewhat desperately, although he tried to make sure that it didn't show on his face. "You already asked one question. Now it's my turn."

Snape didn't reply but neither did he seem the least bit put out by Harry's obvious reluctance to answer.

"As you wish, Potter," Snape replied, his tone slightly condescending once again. "Ask your question."

Harry, who didn't know how long this exchange would be allowed to continue, decided to ask the most pressing question first. "Which Order member is pretending to be me?"

"Nymphadora Tonks," Snape replied sharply. However before Harry could even process this information, Snape fired back his own question. "Who stole the Gillyweed?"

"Dobby," Harry replied quickly, desperate to keep the conversation moving now that Snape was answering questions. "Who knows that I'm here?"

"Poppy, Tonks and I are the only ones," Snape replied his eyes brows furrowing slightly. "Who is Dobby?"

"A house-elf," Harry replied shortly, hoping that Snape wouldn't make him elaborate. "Does Dumbledore know about the poisoning?"

It was something that had been bothering him, almost from the moment he had woken up. Surely, if he'd known a student had been poisoned within the castle walls, Dumbledore would have returned to the school without a second thought...

"No," Snape replied, confirming Harry's thoughts somewhat. "Did you tell the elf to steel the Gillyweed?"

"No," Harry answered truthfully. "He stole it to help me, but I didn't ask him to. Why Tonks?"

"She is an auror, she is a trusted member of the Order and I am told she is reliable at remaining covert."

"Oh," Harry replied. Now that it had been explained, he realised that the choice was obvious. He still didn't like it, but at least he knew that Tonks could look after herself and that she wouldn't do anything too embarrassing whilst pretending to be him.

"She will be coming to speak to you sometime tomorrow," Snape continued to Harry's surprise, "To gather some information about your daily habits and routines. For now she is relying on information provided by your friends."

"Hermione and Ron know I'm here then?" Harry deducted.

"It is my turn for a question I believe, Potter," Snape said with a glare. "Explain that scar on your left hand."

Harry's heart seemed to freeze in his chest. "Erm…I don't…"

"It is quite simple, Potter," Snape snapped. "You have an…_unusual _scar on your left hand. Explain it."

"I…erm…I don't want to, Sir."

"Then we are done here Potter," Snape said coldly, pushing his chair from the table as he made a move to leave.

"But – "

"Potter, if you will not answer my question, then I will not answer yours." Snape levelled a stern look at Harry that would have had first years wetting their pants. Thankfully, Harry was not a Gryffindor for nothing.

Harry gulped back his nervousness as best he could. "What exactly do you want to know?"

"How did you get that scar?" Snape growled, frustration clear in his expression. "Who gave it to you?"

"I…er…I gave it to myself, I suppose," Harry replied, his eyes fixed on the table in front of himself. He refused to appear weak in front of Snape, but he didn't quite trust himself to stay calm.

"Potter…" warned Snape.

"Fine," Harry replied, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "It was a blood quill."

"Who – "

"Umbridge," interrupted Harry quickly. "Now, do Hermione and Ron know that I'm down here and not with them?"

Harry was hoping that by carrying on with his question, Snape would be too distracted to continue the questions about his scar. It was between him and Umbridge, a private battle of wills. He could only hope that Snape didn't stick his unusually large nose into something that had nothing to do with him.

"They do not know that you are _here _precisely, but they are aware that you are not with them," Snape replied, apparently unconcerned by Harry's abrupt change in conversation. "Madame Pomfrey informed them yesterday evening once it was clear that you would not be able to return to Gryffindor tower."

"Oh, well good," Harry replied, already preparing himself for the next round of questioning. If Snape asked about the scar again…

"Do you get on with your relatives, Potter?"

Harry couldn't help but be taken aback slightly once again. "Erm...what?"

"Must I repeat everything, Potter?" Snape snapped in annoyance. "Do you get on with your relatives? How is your relationship with them?"

"It's…f-fine," Potter replied, his face carefully blank despite his tightening chest. "I get on with them fine, sir."

"What did I say about answering my questions properly, Potter?" Snape shot back with a glare.

Harry wanted to reply that the greasy git had said nothing about answering the questions _properly _but in the end his nerve failed him. There were so many things he still needed to know. He just needed to decide if this current line of questioning was a price worth paying.

"What do you mean?" Harry replied, feigning ignorance in order to buy him a bit of time to get his thoughts straight.

"You were lying, Potter," Snape stated bluntly. "As usual, your ability to control your emotions is abysmal at best."

"What exactly is it that you want to know, Snape?" Harry shot back, frustration colouring his tone. The last thing he wanted to discuss with Snape was his relationship with his relatives. No information was worth the ridicule he would get from the man if he revealed how his Aunt and Uncle truly treated him. As much as he hated being called 'pampered' and 'spoilt', the idea of Snape knowing the reality of the situation was much, much worse.

"Obviously you do not get on with them," Snape said with an odd look on his face. "I would like to know more. If you were ill at home, for example, what would you do?"

"What?" Harry replied. Where was Snape going with this…?

"Do you have a problem with your hearing, Potter? Snape snapped, but then continued without waiting for an answer. "If you are ill at home, away from Hogwarts, what would you do?"

"I…erm…don't know," Harry replied, then belatedly added, "Sir."

"What do you mean, you do not know?" Snape asked pointedly.

"I don't know," Harry replied tightly, clenching his fists slightly in an attempt to control his temper.

"Potter…"

"Look," Harry interrupted, ignoring the glare forming on Snape's face. "I don't get sick much, so it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"But you have been sick in the past?" Snape asked shrewdly, and Harry had to clench his jaw to prevent the scream of frustration from leaving his lips. Why did Snape care so much about how his relatives treated him? Why couldn't be just leave it alone? Harry almost wished the man was still stuck on the blood quill thing…

"Yes," Harry eventually ground out, still hoping that Snape would drop the whole thing.

"What did you do?" Snape asked unrelentingly. "Or perhaps the question would be better phrased 'What did your relatives do?'"

"My relatives?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape replied, his lips tightening slightly. "Your relatives. When you were sick, what did your relatives do? Did they take you to a doctor?"

"No," replied Harry bluntly, clenching his fists in order to stop the shaking that was beginning to build up in his limbs.

"Did they give you medicine?" Snape continued, apparently determined to get to the bottom of it. Harry had never hated the man more.

"No."

"Potter, what did they do?"

"Nothing," Potter snapped angrily. "Okay? They did nothing. They locked me away so that I didn't infect their precious Duddykins but other than that they did nothing!"

"Potter -"

"No," Harry interrupted. "I'm done here. I've had it with your bloody questions. May I be excused?"

Without waiting for an answer, Harry jumped to his feet. Dizziness rushed to his head, but Harry ignored it, stumbling towards the door with the desperation of a drowning man. He needed to get out. He needed to get away from Snape and his bloody questions about things that didn't concern him.

Harry yanked open the door and staggered through the living room and into the corridor, making towards the bedroom – Snape's bedroom – hoping all the while that he would make the short journey without collapsing. The last thing he needed was to be found unconscious by Snape, not when he was already feeling so vulnerable, both inside and out.

Finally, Harry stumbled through the bedroom door, and with his last ounce of energy, he slammed the door shut behind him.

Harry's ears were ringing in the silence of the bedroom, and his heart was thudding so loudly in his chest that he was half-worried that it would burst right out. Still leaning against the door, Harry slid down until he hit the floor with a soft thud, his legs finally collapsing from under him.

As he sat there, too tired to pull himself back up, Harry pressed his shaking hands to his face, shame building up almost to the point where it was overtaking his anger and frustration. Weakness seemed to crawl at his senses, reminding him yet again of his recent near death experience, but worse still was the thought of what he had just revealed to Snape. Granted it wasn't much, not in the grand scheme of things, but it was a lot more than he had ever told anyone else.

Yes, everyone knew that he hated his relatives and that his relatives returned the feeling with equal vigour, but Harry was under the distinct impression that everyone believed that, although they didn't like him particularly, his relatives still _cared _for him at least. That they still looked after him.

No one knew the extent to which he had been forced throughout his childhood to look after himself. Snape though…

Snape knew now. The man knew that his relatives didn't care for him, that they wouldn't look after him even when he was struck down with illness.

_They locked me away so that I didn't infect their precious Duddykins but other than that they did nothing!_

How much would Snape deduce from that small admittance?

Harry knew the man would be mad – furious probably – that Harry had stormed out, and Snape was probably marching towards the room right now to deliver some form of punishment for the indiscretion, but Harry just couldn't bring himself to care. Not anymore.

Because Snape knew.

Memories thudded at his mind, reminding him of all the times that his illnesses had gone untreated at the Dursleys. Snape had healed him this time, it seemed, but there was no doubt in his mind that the man had not done so because he cared what happened to his student.

No one ever cared.

Harry closed his eyes and leant his head wearily against the door. Information suddenly didn't seem so important anymore. Certainly not in return for his darkest secrets. He'd had enough of talking. Talking changed nothing. Admitting something was wrong never made anything better, and truthfully, he just didn't want to think about it.

No one else had ever cared. Why should he?

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**A/N- **So there it is? I've tried really hard to keep Harry and Snape in character without it simply descending into an insult contest, but I'm not entirely sure I've achieved it, particularly towards the end. I'd really like to hear your thoughts, whether good or bad.

For those who are wondering about Snape's thoughts in all of this, that will come along in the next chapter, along with the aftermath of this conversation, which should be interesting at least. Hopefully it won't be too long until it's finished, but until then, thanks for reading!


	9. The Aftermath

**************Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N- **Hello again! Sorry for the delay for this chapter. I've been quite sick recently and once I was better (which I am now, thankfully!) it took longer than I would have liked to get back into the rhythm of writing. This chapter was written to the strange combination of Elton John and Radiohead which probably accounts for why it might seem a bit choppy in parts. I've reworked it over and over again, but this is about the best I can manage at the moment. I hope you like it anyway!

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**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Aftermath**

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_They locked me away so that I didn't infect their precious Duddykins but other than that they did nothing!_

Locked away. Did nothing.

Snape sighed heavily, running his hands over his tired face as the sound of the bedroom door being slammed reverberated around his quarters with a resounding thud. He stayed firmly seated at the kitchen table though; despite the urge to lambast the boy for storming out, there were more pressing matters for his mind to deal with, and he wasn't sure he could look at Potter right now without arguing with him - something that neither of them needed at present. The boy's final words filled in the silence that followed though, whispering inside Snape's head, haunting him and taunting him with the mistakes he had made. The mistakes they had all made.

Damn the boy.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to will the impending and inevitable headache away. Every nagging sense of unease that he had felt in the last day or so had been confirmed in that one, brief sentence; a sentence coaxed out of the boy under pressure and in absolute frustration. That had been precisely his intention in the first place, but now, instead of satisfaction, all Snape was left with was a bitter taste in his mouth.

Because his suspicions, drawn in his mind from the moment he had seen those scars on the boy's torso, had now been confirmed. He had his answer, the answers to the questions that had been nagging his mind for hours. The trouble was, now he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

Snape couldn't very well deny it any longer, that much was clear. No matter how much he wanted to believe that Potter was still the spoilt and arrogant boy he had hated all these years, everything that he had seen and heard in the last two days had shaken the very foundation of his beliefs. At first, he had clung desperately to his long held perceptions of the boy, hoping that Poppy's own suspicions were simply an overreaction and that the scars on the boy's chest really were innocent mementos of a normal childhood, but Snape could lie to himself no longer.

Damn the boy.

Snape scowled as he stared at the kitchen table. He had always prided himself on his intellect, on his ability to glean information that others simply could not see. That all the other adults in the boy's life had also missed the signs of an abusive past offered little comfort to the Potions Professor. With his own dark past, he should have noticed something off about Potter...but no, he had been just as blind as the rest of them.

Questions pounded at Snape's mind, adding to the headache that was already beginning to build in his temple.

How deep did the abuse go? So far Potter's revelation only hinted at severe neglect, but in Snape's experience, neglect was rarely where such cases ended. Potter had been in the care of his relatives for fourteen years, without anyone checking up on his welfare as far as Snape knew; it was, sadly, plenty of time for the situation to have escalated beyond simple neglect. The scars on the boy's body also suggested a darker past than even Snape could conjure up in his mind at present.

Snape sighed heavily and forced himself to resist the urge to pound the table in frustration. Nothing seemed to add up though. The signs all pointed to abuse, and yet the way Potter acted on a daily basis seemed to counteract the very idea. The image of a black haired boy being beaten by his uncle – no matter how much Snape believed it to resemble the truth of Potter's childhood – simply did not tally with the boy who had spent the last five years actively standing up to him, and everyone else, without fear.

Physically abused children were usually - in Snape's experience at least - cowed, beaten down, _broken _by it all…but not Potter. No, the boy was confident, brave, and unafraid of standing up to authority. Anyone looking at Potter would see a well-adjusted boy - although Snape would never admit that thought aloud – not a boy who had suffered horrors most men would collapse under.

Snape forced that thought away. A part of him was still clinging to the idea that the situation might not be that bad. Potter had not hinted at anything that resembled physical abuse after all; it _was _possible that he was overreacting boy's statement. Deep down though, Snape knew he wasn't. It wasn't what the boy had said exactly, it was more the way he had reacted afterwards. Fear had danced in his eyes, and Potter had fled the conversation in a way that said much more about the boy than his words ever could. Potter, Snape realised, had been scared of what else he would reveal.

There was definitely more to it, then.

However, one thing _was_ very clear. As much the adults in his life did not deserve an excuse – and he included himself in that group - Potter had, whether intentionally or not, made the signs of abuse very easy to miss. For all intents and purposes, the boy seemed to be okay, happy even. In the five years Potter had been at Hogwarts, there hadn't even been one hint that something was amiss in his home life, not that Snape was aware of anyway.

Had Potter hidden it deliberately? It certainly seemed so - although why, Snape could only begin to guess.

Snape growled as he pulled himself up from the kitchen table. No matter how small the signs had been, no matter how well hidden, Snape couldn't help but think that he, at the very least, should have noticed something, especially with his own history. The fact that he had actively avoided Potter since he had arrived at Hogwarts seemed a poor excuse now.

It all seemed glaringly obvious after spending so much time in the boy's company recently, more than he ever would have done by choice. Now, behaviour that Snape had always seen as insolence and childish independence now looked more and more like Potter instead simply harboured a distinct lack of trust in adults. In almost all the dangerous situations he had been in, as far as Snape knew, Potter had never asked a teacher for help. It had infuriated Snape, who had always seen it as the utmost arrogance and insolence. But instead of arrogance, was it because Potter had been taught at an early age not to expect help from those in charge of his welfare?

What had always been seen by many of his colleagues as bravery in life-threatening situations was now resembled something much more sinister. Perhaps, instead of bravery and courage, Potter simply didn't see his life as something worth protecting. Had it been drilled into Potter that his life didn't matter?

The questions swirled around Snape's mind, bombarding him with doubts and shame and regret.

Snape didn't like the boy; he never had, he never would. He definitely had no intention of becoming some sort of bloody mentor to the boy. But the hatred that he had felt for Potter from the moment their eyes had met across the hall all those years ago was diminishing as if it had never even been there. Snape glared at the wall as if it was somehow at fault for his changing emotions concerning the boy. With a force that drew of every ounce of his strength, Snape shoved the thought to the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on a more pressing matter.

What was he going to do now? All he had – no matter how strongly he believed he knew the truth – were deductions, not facts. He _believed_ that Potter had been abused, he did not _know. _Snape scowled at the table as if the wood was somehow hiding the answers.

It didn't help that everything was so finely balanced. The poisoning, Umbridge and the blood quill, Potter's recovery, Dumbledore's absence, the Dark Lord, the ruse to keep it all together – everything was so dependent on so many factors going right. If he added Potter's abuse into the mix, he wasn't sure he would be able to juggle everything without it all falling to pieces. Damn Dumbledore for going missing when they needed him the most. Now it was up to him to deal with this - on his own for now. He would have to make others aware of the situation at some point - Poppy and Minerva certainly - but for now he would have to keep it to himself. Potter was safe from his relatives during term so in that respect he at least had time to work something out.

He needed to know more though. For all these years, he had been certain that he had known who Harry Potter was. Now he was left with nothing but suspicions.

He needed firm, hard facts, something that he could act on when the time came. Poppy, it seemed, had had her suspicions for years, and yet had not yet been able to do anything about them. Snape knew that Poppy would have done anything to help the boy if she could have, and the fact that she hadn't acted simply made it clear that mere suspicions were not going to be enough.

No, he needed more, as much as he didn't like it. Snape knew that he wouldn't be able to act on anything he discovered until the poisoner was caught at least, but he still needed to aware of the situation. He would have to get Potter to talk.

Decision made, Snape sighed heavily, pulling himself up from the table. He made his way quietly out of the room and through his quarters, determined to question Potter some more, to get some real answers instead of half-truths. As much as he didn't want to deal with the boy, without Dumbledore, he was the only person who could…

A loud knock at the door to his chambers interrupted his thoughts. Momentarily distracted from his mission regarding Potter, Snape glanced at the clock above the fireplace. It was eight in the evening, but he wasn't due any visitors as far as he knew. Who could it be?

With a glare fixed firmly on his face, Snape opened the door with slightly more force than necessary, ready to lambast whoever had disturbed his evening this time. What he was not prepared for, though, was to be greeted with the face of the very boy who had been occupying his thoughts all night.

Potter.

"Snape," he greeted with an amicable nod that seemed completely out of place coming from Potter. "Can I come in? I need a word. And no, it can't wait."

It took Snape longer than he would ever admit aloud to work out what was going on, the swirling thoughts in his mind distracting him to the point of idiocy. He had to get control of himself. With all his thoughts focused on Potter's home life, Snape had quite forgotten that there were other problems regarding Potter as well. Potter - or his double anyway - was giving him a strange look but Snape furiously ignored it, taking a deep breath as he tried to regain his stern control.

"Of course," he said with a nod, pulling the door wider to allow the boy through.

Once the door was closed firmly behind them both, Snape turned to Potter's temporary double.

"Nymphadora," he began politely. If he was to work with the woman, and they had little choice about that, he realised that his usual snarky demeanour would hinder their plan, rather than help it. "What did you need?"

"Call me Tonks, please," she said with a small scowl forming on the double's face, and Snape simply nodded in reply. "And I need to talk to you. It's about Harry."

"What now?" Snape asked with a eye roll; only Potter would be able to cause trouble whilst on bed rest. "Umbridge is not suspicious, is she?"

"No, she's got no clue," replied Tonks, "But it's funny you should mention that…"

"What is it?" Snape snapped, his frustration building. Snape didn't need this, not now; he still needed to talk to the boy about his relatives, something he certainly wasn't looking forward to. Why was nothing simple with that boy?

"It's Umbridge!" Tonks burst out. "She's…she barbaric!" Anger crossed the face of the boy in front of him. Had he not know it was a double, an imposter, Snape would have been convinced it was the real Potter, and not Tonks under the influence of polyjuice potion; in fact, the expression was so recognisable that Snape had to make a conscious effort to stop himself from snapping at the boy.

"The detentions," Snape said, understanding finally beginning to seep into his tired mind. The words _I must not tell lies _flashed through his thoughts. Tonks must have just returned from one of the woman's torture sessions.

"Yeah…how did you know?" The double rubbed his left hand absently.

"I…" Snape began uncertainly, searching his mind for the best way to phrase it. "Potter and I had a conversation earlier. The scars on his hand were one of the topics discussed."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Tonks demanded. "You can't possibly allow it to continue. It's illegal."

"I know," Snape said with a glare. Did the woman think he was stupid? "But consider our options. Our only evidence of the crime is your word – which we obviously cannot use without revealing our own subterfuge – or Potter's word. The boy can't come forward himself for precisely the same reason."

"So we just do nothing then," Tonks asked, clearly unhappy with the situation.

"Yes, we do nothing..._for now," _he stressed. "Once Potter is well again, I will pursue it, I can assure you of that. She will not get away with this."

"How is Harry?" Tonks asked with a sigh, apparently willing to let the topic drop for now.

"The boy is…" Snape began, struggling to put into words everything that had happened in the last few hours. It felt as if everything changed, and yet, at the same time, that nothing had. "The boy is fine. He is resting."

"Can I speak to him?" Tonks asked. "There are some things I could do with clearing up a bit."

"As you wish," Snape said with a frown. Maybe they should wait a moment. Potter would probably need time to compose himself, especially considering the way he had stormed out earlier.

Snape froze slightly as he glanced towards the corridor that led to the bedroom. When had he started to care about how Potter felt about things? Snape shook his head forcibly, earning an odd look from the Tonks. He had to get himself under control. Under no circumstances was he going to let Potter's revelation change his feelings towards the boy. He didn't like Potter and he never would, and that was the end of it.

"Come along," Snape said, gesturing towards the corridor that led to his bedroom. The boy's double took the hint and together they made their way towards the bedroom.

"Potter!" Snape snapped. "Open the door this instant!"

He ignored the faint disapproval coming from Tonks as he waited to see if Potter would obey his instructions. When nothing happened, Snape creaked open the door himself, walking through the threshold ready to lambast the boy for ignoring him.

Instead, Snape felt the breath still in his chest at the sight that greeted them.

Potter was lying on top of the covers, apparently asleep, and looking for all the world as if he had just collapsed there. The boy was still dressed in the pyjamas Poppy had dressed him in, but they didn't hide the faint shaking in the boy's limbs nor the thin sheen of sweat on the boy's face. Even from the doorway, he could hear the rattling of Potter's breath; it was better than it had been before they had given Potter the antidote, but it still a shock to hear. Snape glanced towards Tonks and saw concern flash across the double's face, something that he was sure was reflected in his own.

Looking back to the boy, Snape noticed that the teenager had his arms crossed tightly across his chest as if they were a shield even in sleep. Seeing Potter like this had knocked Snape back slightly, especially since he had seemed fine when they'd eaten dinner. In the aftermath of Potter's revelation, and in his quest for answers, Snape had actually forgotten that the boy was still very sick. Snape felt shame rise through him, a quite unwelcome emotion for a man who usually cared so little for the thoughts and feelings of others.

"Sir?" Potter whispered hoarsely, his eyes still closed. "What is it?" The voice startled Snape slightly, but he quickly pulled himself together.

"Nevermind, Potter," Snape sighed, trying to keep his tone neutral. "It can wait. Go to sleep."

"I'm fine, Sir," Potter muttered stubbornly. The boy was actually trying to pull himself up, even though he didn't even seem to have the energy to open his eyes. Snape growled but he forced himself to stay calm.

"Potter, you were poisoned," Snape argued, trying to ignore the look of concern coming from Tonks. "Clearly you are not yet recovered. Sleep, you idiot boy."

"Yeah," interjected Tonks. "Just go to sleep, Harry. No offence, but you don't look so great."

Potter's eyes snapped open at hearing the second voice in the room. It was clear that he was even more confused to see his own face staring back at him. The confusion that crossed his expression would have been comical had the situation not been so serious.

"What going on...wait…Tonks?" Understanding finally seemed to hit Potter and Tonks smiled in relief. The effort seemed to cost Potter though, and a grimace crossed the boy's face.

"Yeah kiddo, it's me," she sighed in relief. "Why don't you get some sleep. I'll come back tomorrow and we can talk then, okay?"

"Kay." The scowl slipped from Potter's face, replaced by a weariness that surprised Snape. Potter must have been feeling worse than he looked to have given in so easily, and that was saying something since the boy looked on death's door. When the Gryffindor finally closed his eyes again, Snape couldn't help but release a small breath of relief, a reaction clearly mirrored in the face of the boy's double.

Potter's breathing didn't take long to even out. It was still slightly raggedy, even in sleep, but Snape wasn't unduly worried. Poppy had warned him about this after all; it would take time for the boy to get his energy back. He would keep checking up on the boy though; as long as it didn't get much worse, Potter would be fine. If not, Poppy was only a floo call away.

After a few moments, Snape gestured silently towards the hall, and he and Tonks left an oblivious Potter to his much needed rest.

"You said he was fine," Tonks whispered once they had closed the door behind them. The tone was accusing, but concern laced her words.

Snape rolled his eyes, trying to hide his own concern. "Potter _is _fine. His recovery will simply take time. Sudden exhaustion is to be expected."

Tonks didn't look convinced but thankfully she didn't push it. As they made their way down the corridor and back into the living room, concern plastered on both their faces, Snape glanced back towards the closed bedroom door. Everything seemed to be getting more and more complicated the longer Potter stayed here, and Snape found himself dreading what was coming next. At the very least, it was beginning to look like, once again, he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight.

Damn the boy.

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A/N- Phew, finally it's done! This chapter was so difficult to write, mainly because Snape just wouldn't let me get into his head! Every time I wrote something it just seemed off and out-of-character. Hopefully I got there in the end though? In the next chapter I might add in some Tonks POV as well. Let me know if that's something you might be interested in.

I realise the plot is moving quite slowly at the moment, but I haven't forgotten about the poisoner, Umbridge or Voldemort -more should happen in the next few chapters, but hopefully what I'm writing isn't too boring? Let me know! Anyway, thanks for reading!


	10. The Relapse

**A/N -** Thank you for all your responses to the last chapter. One thing I should mention…I've had a lot of questions recently asking why Tonks is using Polyjuice when she is a metamorphmagus – there is a reason, I promise, and all will become clear in the next couple of chapters! Anyway, hope that helps, and enjoy the chapter!

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**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Relapse**

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Harry groaned, his breath rattling painfully in his chest as he blinked his eyes open, his eyelids still crusty with sleep. Slowly, as he tried to supress the coughs that were itching to escape his lungs, Harry became aware of his surroundings; he was not in the least surprised to find himself in Snape's bedroom again, although not for the first time he wished desperately that he wasn't. No matter how many times he woke up in the dark dungeons, Harry would never get used to it. It didn't help that yet again he had woken up feeling utterly and completely awful...

Shakily, Harry felt around for his glasses and put them on, blinking heavily as he tried to steady his breathing. He shook his head slightly as he tried to dispel the fog from his brain, but he made no move to pull himself up more fully, too exhausted at the moment to even think about trying to get out of bed.

At least Snape wasn't anywhere to be seen…

Harry lay there as he tried to catch his breath, something that he had been struggling to do for weeks now, although it had gotten a lot worse in recent days. He'd hoped that with the treatment that Snape and Madame Pomfrey had given him that he would feel better by now, but apparently not. Instead, he felt dizzy, and in pain, and though he could feel his body faintly shivering, Harry was warm – too warm. Harry tried to stop the tremors, clenching his fists as he tried to will them away, but if anything they just got bigger, more forceful. Harry blinked back his panic as best he could, but the air seemed to stop in his chest. The more awake he became, the more pain he felt.

This wasn't right.

Maybe he should get Snape…

Harry stayed still exactly where he was though, even as the pain in his chest rose to levels he had only suffered before he had collapsed in that fateful Potions lesson. He gasped as his breath hitched slightly in his chest, but still he didn't call for help. After that disastrous questioning yesterday, Harry wanted nothing more than to avoid his Professor, even if it meant breathing a little uneasily for a while. He'd wait until Madame Pomfrey came to check on him instead. Snape would only make him talk and think about things that he had no intention of thinking or talking about. No, it would be best to avoid Snape as much as possible.

Not that he had ever actively sought out the man, Harry thought with a scoff. The man would probably laugh in his face if he, the bane of his existence, went to him asking for help.

With a slight flush of shame that momentarily overtook his worry, Harry recalled the visit from Snape and Tonks last night. He'd been so exhausted after the meal and conversation with Snape that he'd just dragged himself to bed without another thought. He hadn't even bothered to give himself a quick wash or change his pyjamas. When the two of them had come into the room, Harry had been half-asleep already and hadn't been able to find the energy to even wake himself up properly. Thankfully, they had taken the hint and left him alone, but Harry hated how vulnerable and weak he had looked. Snape had probably had a good laugh to himself after that.

Pathetic.

Harry pulled at the pyjamas slightly as he finally tried to drag himself up, supressing a cough as he did so. He felt hot and sticky, but more alarming perhaps was the tightness in his chest and the dizziness that was almost ruling his senses. Harry's mind flew back to the other morning, the day he had collapsed in Potions. At present, Harry felt almost as bad as he had then. Last night exhaustion had taken over, but now Harry wasn't convinced that there wasn't more to it. It was almost as if the illness had come back…

For the first time, a particular thought hit him. If Pomfrey and Snape had cured him, why did it feel as if he was still sick?

Yesterday, he had felt okay; tired, yes, but okay. But the way he felt now, the tightness in his chest and the way that dizziness was rising up in him to the point where he was almost ready to collapse back onto the bed, it seemed as if he had been lulled into a false sense of security. He had been sure that the illness – the poisoning, he reminded himself – was behind him, but it had apparently been only a brief respite.

Exhaustion plagued at his senses as he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, making him want nothing more than to curl up in bed and hibernate for the next year. In fact, Harry would have done precisely that, had it not been for the stabbing pain in his chest.

Harry dragged himself slowly up on the bed, cold sweat dripping from his forehead. Harry stretched his aching body, working his shoulder carefully as he tried to will life back into his tired limbs. The movement seemed to jar his chest and Harry groaned as the ache transformed into a stabbing pain that threatened to burst his chest wide open. Harry staggered backwards slightly but managed to stay on his feet.

What the hell was wrong with him?

His thoughts whirred around his mind, until suddenly the answer hit his mind with a force that almost knocked him back onto the bed again. He stayed on his feet from sheer force of will alone, but the thought whirred around his head, making his dizzy with panic.

Poison. He'd been poisoned again.

Almost as soon as the thought hit his mind, his breathing quickened almost involuntarily and Harry gasped as each breath felt like the stab of a knife into his chest. Harry forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it in, desperate to even out his breathing back to normal, but his chest stung with the effort and instead, Harry felt his panic increase.

He needed help. He wasn't okay, there was no fooling himself this time. He needed help, and there was only one person who could give it.

Harry glanced at the clock in the corner of the bedroom as his breathing hitched. It was only six in the morning. Would Snape even be awake yet?

Harry shook his head as he tried to get a hold of himself. He had no choice, he realised, the breath rattling in his chest as he tried to pull in vital oxygen. His lungs burned with the effort and a sheen of sweat dripped from his forehead.

He needed help. Fast.

Quickly, Harry staggered over to the door and pulled it open, his body barely responding to his weak instructions. He wobbled down the small hallway and into the living room, his chest heaving with the effort. Red flashed across his vision and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

"Snape," Harry gasped out, grabbing onto the wall to keep himself upright as he pushed his body into the living room. Panic pushed at his senses, but Harry ignored it. "Snape!"

Harry closed his eyes as dizziness came upon him more quickly than his body could handle. He was going to faint again, he knew it…

"Potter!"

A hand grabbed him and pulled him into the other room. Harry couldn't have put up a fight even if he had wanted to, his focus completely on his breathing. He was desperate to get the air he needed.

"Potter, breathe."

_What do you think I'm trying to do, you stupid git? _Harry thought angrily, although the thought flittered away before he could voice it, pain taking its place.

"Can't," Harry whispered hoarsely instead; he was finding it much harder to talk than it should have been. Much harder to breathe. It was getting worse...

He heard Snape growl in what seemed to be frustration, and Harry found himself being pulled to sit on the sofa. He opened his eyes, but did his best not to show the panic he was feeling. He didn't want Snape to think he was weak, even though he had never _felt _weaker. No, he just wanted Snape to get rid of the poison. He needed help. He needed to breathe.

"Poison," Harry gasped.

Harry saw Snape roll his eyes. "There is no poison in your system, Potter."

"Must be," Harry argued, riding through the pain in his chest as best he could. "Feels…worse."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Chest," Harry ground out as he tried to supress another painful cough. "Lungs. Head. Can't breathe."

Idly, Snape sighed and ran his wand in a complicated movement over Harry's head and chest. Harry did his best not to flinch as the man pointed his wand at him but he wasn't sure he was entirely successful. Harry clenched his fists tightly by his side as he tried to ride through the pain. What the hell was taking Snape so long? Couldn't he see that this was urgent…?

"Hmm," Snape murmured. "Yes, Madame Pomfrey warned me this might happen."

"What…?"

"Stay here, Potter," Snape interrupted. "And stop panicking. You are fine."

Harry closed his eyes again, trying to keep the panic at bay. He gasped slightly as the air burned through his lungs with a pain he had only felt during the 'treatment' they had given him for the poisoning. That had been excruciating, and this was beginning to feel equally bad.

Harry felt a hand jerk his shoulder, and Harry snapped his eyes open in panic, his nerves already pushed to their limits.

"Calm down, Potter," Snape snapped irritably, although his expression was one of concern. Apparently he had returned bearing potions, although Harry wasn't quite sure when the man had even left the room.

"Drink this," ordered Snape, holding his hand out to give Harry a particularly disgusting potion. Shakily, Harry took it, and it was a testament to his panic that he only gave the potion the merest look of doubt. It was enough for Snape though.

"Potter," the Professor warned.

"Right," Harry suppressed a cough with some difficulty, putting the vial to his lips with a weary sigh. He rolled his eyes, hoping to give the impression to Snape that he wasn't as weak as he felt, but even he didn't think it had been successful. He held the potion up in a mocking salute, the kind that people would do when they shared beers with a friend. "Cheers."

Without waiting for a response, Harry knocked back the potion, unable to prevent the grimace that crossed his face as the disgusting concoction made its way down his throat.

It burned, and Harry had to literally grip the fabric of the sofa to keep himself from crying out. He clenched his teeth to keep back the scream of pain, gasping in air. Snape had poisoned him. He'd bloody poisoned him…

And then it began to get better. Slowly, his breaths came easier, and the tremors in his limbs subsided to the point that it was almost as if they had never existed in the first place. Harry took a deep breath, revelling as the air filled his lungs without pain, without difficulty.

Snape hadn't moved the entire time, but Harry could see that he was waiting for an explanation.

"I thought I'd been poisoned again," Harry murmered, a flush working its way onto his face as the embarrassment began to take its full effect. He'd made such a fool of himself. No doubt Snape's Slytherins would be talking about this one for years. The great Harry Potter had given himself a panic attack.

Pathetic.

"That is not an unreasonable assumption to make," Snape said carefully as he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment. Harry's eyes shot up in surprise. "Though you should try to remain calm next time."

"Easier said than done," Harry muttered stubbornly, though he felt slightly better about it all. "You aren't the one with a poisoner trying to kill them."

"How many times must I say it, Potter?" Snape countered, his voice dripping with frustration. "You are safe here, you foolish boy. Nobody can reach you here!"

"Look, I know alright!" Harry burst out, his own frustration leaking through now that the panic was subsiding. He wanted to get rid of his embarrassment, and anger seemed a good substitute. "I know that no one knows I'm here, but that doesn't make it any easier. I was supposed to be safe at Hogwarts too, but in the last four and a half years I've been attacked by Voldemort four times, I've actually duelled him once, and I've almost been killed by a werewolf, a basilisk, hundreds of dememtors and set of bloody annoying mermaids, not to mention all four of my bloody defence professors! Umbridge is the only one who hasn't so far, although that's probably only a matter of time. I've been tortured and hurt more times that I can even count, and no matter how much I try to stay out of trouble, trouble always finds me! Always! For Merlin's sake, Snape, I spent the end of my _first year _in a three day coma! Dumbledore couldn't even keep me safe, Snape, what makes you think you can?"

"Professor Snape," the Potions Master muttered reflexively, although he seemed distinctly rattled by Harry's outburst. Harry, for his part, was trying to calm down and steady his breathing once again. After a few tense moments, Snape spoke.

"I assure you, Potter," Snape began firmly, his eyes meeting Harry's as if to make sure that he knew how true his words were. "I will do everything in my power to keep you alive."

"But…why?" The fight had left Harry now, and weariness, bone-numbing weariness, had taken its place. "Why are you doing this? Why do you care?"

"Because you are my student," Snape said bluntly, his dark eyes burning into Harry's. "I do not like you, and I never will. I am not a kind man and I detest the idea of being a slave to emotions or feeling, but that does not meet that I will sit idly by while your life is threatened. I do not _care _about you, but I will do my duty, Potter."

To say that he had just been told that that Snape didn't like him, Harry felt oddly bolstered by the comment. Snape, who hated Harry's guts, was willing to do anything to save his life. That had to count for something.

"I don't trust you," Harry murmured stubbornly, bowing his head.

"You do not need to trust _me," _Snape said, once again surprising Harry. "You need to trust that I would do everything in my power to keep you alive. I am not the one who is poisoning you, Potter, but I will discover who is, and they will be punished. We have a common enemy now. You need to trust that we are on the same side in this at least."

Harry couldn't speak, the words so foreign to his ears, especially coming from the man in front of him. They were harshly spoken, but completely absent of Snape's usual anger or annoyance. Harry found, to his own surprise, that he believed him.

"Besides, if I were to poison you, Potter," Snape continued, raising his eyebrow. "I assure you, you would not even be aware of what was happening until it was too late."

Harry snorted before he could stop himself. Was that honestly a joke? Harry hoped it was, although with Snape you never could tell. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find that Snape had been fantasising about poisoning him for years.

"Yeah, this poisoner isn't very subtle," Harry said with a small smile to himself. "Or competent."

"I would not say that," Snape disagreed with a frown. "No one was aware of how bad it was until it was nearly too late."

Harry sobered slightly and took a deep breath. "I knew. I mean, I didn't know it was poison, but I knew I was sick."

"How long?" Snape asked, his lips tightening. "How long have you known?"

"Weeks," Harry whispered.

Snape sighed angrily, but didn't seem surprised. "You told me that when you first awoke after the treatment, but I hadn't believed it until now. Why in Merlin's name did you never tell anyone?"

"I thought I could handle it," Harry muttered, idly picking at a loose thread on his pyjamas.

"Idiot boy," Snape muttered angrily, looking towards Harry with deep displeasure. Gone was the looks of concern and the understanding tone. The old Snape was back.

"Look," Harry began, hoping to head off another lecture. "Can I go now? I'd really like a shower."

Snape almost seemed as if he was going to deny Harry out of sheer spite, but in the end he just nodded jerkily, dismissing Harry with a wave of his hand.

Harry moved to make a hasty exist, but when he reached the door, however, Harry turned back slightly.

"Sir..."

"Just go, Potter," Snape interrupted bluntly. "We will discuss this at another time. Now, however, I have lessons to plan. So go and take a shower if you must. Breakfast will be served in one hour."

Snape glared at Harry as if to dare him to question the orders, but Harry didn't need to be told twice. He left as quickly as he had arrived, shutting the bedroom door firmly behind himself. He'd only wanted to thank the man anyway, but if he didn't want to hear it, then fine. Harry wouldn't bother next time.

Harry glared at the wall as if it was somehow at fault for Snape's changing moods. Just when he'd thought they had come to an understanding, that they'd finally gotten to a place where they might have been able to get through this whole poisoning debacle relatively unscathed, the Professor had got angry at him again. And for no good reason as well.

Oh, the old Snape was back, alright.

Damn the man.

* * *

**A/N-** Hmm, I can't seem to stop torturing Harry, can I? This was a big chapter in the development of Snape and Harry's mentor relationship, but I find myself worrying over whether it occurred too quickly. I want this story to be as realistic as possible, and Snape, I've found, is very hard to keep in character when you want to turn him into a mentor for Harry.

For those who were waiting for more from Tonks, that will come in the next chapter along with some developments in the investigation into the poisoner. And don't worry, Snape hasn't given up on his quest to uncover Harry's home life either. There's plenty to look forward to, but until then, thanks for reading!


	11. The Truth

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N - **Sorry for the delay yet again. I'm in my final year at university and my workload last week was a bit intense to say the least. It's all done now though, and your reviews were so encouraging, so hopefully I'll have more time and motivation to write! The plot should move along a bit quicker now. I hope you like this newest chapter!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Truth**

* * *

"How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Fine, Ma'am," Harry muttered as he tried to ignore the wand light she was pointing into his eyes.

Madame Pomfrey gave him a faintly disapproving look – something that told Harry that she didn't believe him in the slightest – but thankfully she didn't push him on the subject. Snape must have already spoken to her whilst he'd been in the shower though, because she'd barely given him time to towel his hair dry before she'd descended upon him, wand already raised in her hand. Snape had probably told her all about his little _overreaction _this morning. Damn.

Harry bit back a groan as she continued to examine him, barely giving him a moment to lie back down on the bed. The truth was, Harry did feel a lot better now that he'd cleaned himself up a bit; not perfect, and definitely still weak, but certainly better than he had felt this morning. Obviously, though, Madame Pomfrey was in no mood to accept his word for it until she had seen for herself that he really was okay. He knew from long experience that there was no point in arguing with the nurse when she got like this, so instead of trying to convince her that he fine, Harry just sat back on the bed and let her do her tests.

"Professor Snape mentioned that you had some problems with your breathing this morning," she prompted gently, confirming Harry's suspicions that Snape had already spoken to her. Harry flushed slightly, completely embarrassed at the reminder his panic attack early that morning. The fact that Snape of all people had been the one to witness it made the whole thing even worse as well. Harry would probably never hear the end of it…

"I panicked," Harry said quietly, lowering his gaze as he fidgeted with a thread on the hospital pyjamas. "I…I thought I'd been poisoned again."

"That's quite a normal reaction, I'm afraid," Pomfrey replied, her tone sympathetic. "Really, it was to be expected."

"That's pretty much what Snape said," Harry admitted, although he still felt completely pathetic. After everything he had been through, he should have known not to panic like that. It was bad enough that he had been poisoned in the first place without him making it worse for himself.

"_Profes__sor _Snape, Harry," she admonished, although there wasn't much force behind it. "He gave you some potions for it, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then you shouldn't have any further problems today." She gave one last flick of her wand before putting it aside, apparently satisfied that his recovery was still on track. "Just try to stay calm in the future, okay Mr Potter? We'll have this poisoner caught in no time."

"Have you heard from Tonks at all?" Harry asked. If Snape wasn't going to answer his questions, maybe Madame Pomfrey could.

"Sorry, dear," Madame Pomfrey, as she began to gather up her things. "Professor Snape will know more than I do."

"You must know something," Harry persisted, pulling himself up more on the bed.

"I've had Miss Tonks come to the Hospital Wing a number of times since she took on the persona, but so far I've not found any trace of poison in her system," Madame Pomfrey answered. "Whether or not she has made any progress in her investigations is something that you will have to ask Professor Snape. She's reporting to him, not me."

"So either the poisoner has given up, or they know it's not really me," Harry said quietly, completely ignoring her comment about Snape.

"Our ruse is working, Harry," Madame Pomfrey said softly, her expression moulding from stern to sympathetic. "You're safe here."

"That's what Snape said," Harry mumbled, his gaze dropping to his knees.

"You should listen to him, Mr Potter," Madame Pomfrey said; her stern persona was back. "Merlin knows he's treated you unfairly in the past, but…well, let me put it this way - I saw the way he looked at you when you were lying on this very bed, struggling to even breathe. You were dying Harry, and Professor Snape did everything he could to make sure you didn't. He may not be a…kind man, but I can assure you, he did not want you to die."

"Can I trust him?" Harry asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"I don't know, can you?" Madame Pomfrey replied with a small smile. "I'm afraid that's something you'll have to decide for yourself, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded mutely but already his thoughts were whirring inside his head. Everything he had ever known about the man suggested that Professor Snape should have been celebrating his death, not trying to prevent it. The man had _hated _him, treated him unfairly and bullied him mercilessly for almost five years, and yet he had also saved his life. It just didn't make sense.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," Madame Pomfrey said, and Harry looked up. Having been lost in thought, Harry was surprised to see that the nurse was almost out the door. He had wanted to get more answers from her, but he supposed he would have to wait for another opportunity. "Now, isn't Professor Snape expecting you for breakfast?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, pulling himself up from the bed.

"Come along then," she said, ushering him out the door. "There's no sense in keeping him waiting. Besides, you need to keep up your strength. The poison has left you considerably weakened. If you want to get better, you need to eat and rest, Mr Potter."

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry mumbled as he made his way into the living room. Madame Pomfrey followed him but instead of moving towards the kitchen, she made her way over to the door that led into the main school corridor.

"I'll come and check on you later, Harry," Madame Pomfrey said calmly as she began to leave. "Until then, do try to keep your spirits up. And try not to antagonise Professor Snape too much."

That earned a wry smile from Harry. "I'll try."

"Good," she replied, a small smile evident on her own face. She made her way out then, leaving Harry to face Professor Snape alone.

* * *

The boy, Snape decided, was being deliberately infuriating. Snape glared at him from across the kitchen table, almost hoping to provoke the Gryffindor into some sort of reaction, but Potter just ignored him, choosing to play with his food instead. In fact, the boy had barely eaten anything at all, and the blank expression on the teenager's face was beginning to get to him. Something was bothering Potter...

"Have you ever seen muggle horror films, sir?"

The question came out of the blue. Snape had just been about to order the boy to eat some more eggs, and was taken aback slightly by the boy's strange attempt at conversation.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" Snape asked irritably, fixing the boy with a glare.

"Oh." The boy flushed slightly but he kept his gaze down at his eggs. "Films are a muggle thing. They're like stories, but with moving pictures instead of -"

"I am not an imbecile, Potter," Snape interrupted. "I know what films are."

"Oh," Potter mumbled.

"I am a half-blood Potter," Snape continued, feeling the need to explain. "I grew up in the muggle world. I am well acquainted with muggle horror films. Why do you ask?"

If he was honest with himself, Snape was intensely curious to know where the boy was going with this. So far Potter had been fairly quiet during his recovery in his quarters, and the one conversation that _had _managed to have had turned into a bit of a disaster, ending with Potter storming out like the stroppy teenager he was. Why was Potter suddenly so interested in talking now?

"Well…erm," Potter began, his voice still hoarse from the illness. "During the summer, my aunt and uncle were out one day and Dudley – that's my cousin – had some of his friends around. I was in the kitchen cooking but I could hear them in the living room. They were watching a horror film. It was called 'The Shining'. Have you heard of it?"

"I have," Snape replied evenly.

"I…watched some of it from the doorway," Potter admitted. "Dudley and his mates kept jumping at all the scary bits."

"Yes, Potter?" Snape prompted irritably. "Get to the point."

"I didn't feel anything," Potter admitted, and although the boy's gaze was still firmly fixed to the table, Snape could see a trace of defiance in his expression.

"You felt nothing?" Was this the boy's way of boasting that he was fearless and brave?

"I just…it didn't seem scary, you know?" Finally Potter raised his eyes, green finding black. "It was nothing compared to some of the things I've seen. The film didn't even come close to reality. The killer…he was a joke. All that stuff I said yesterday…you know, when I was angry – _that _was scary."

"Your point, Potter?"

"I just…" Potter paused as he seemed to try to gather his thoughts. "I don't scare easily."

"I am starting to see that," Snape admitted, and he saw a flicker of surprise cross the boy's face.

Unflinching, Potter met his gaze. "I'm scared now," he said.

Snape could see that it had cost the boy something to admit that aloud, but truthfully he had no idea how to reply. Before the poisoning, had Potter come to him with such an admission, Snape would have bullied and mocked the boy mercilessly over it. Now…well, it was as if he was seeing Potter for the first time.

"Why are you telling me this, Potter?" he asked with a small sigh, still unsure of how to act.

"Because you don't care," Potter said bluntly.

Snape tried to keep his surprise off his face but he wasn't altogether sure he had succeeded. In the end, he settled for what he hoped was a look of indifference.

"If, as you say, I don't care," Snape began, his tone neutral. "Why are you even bringing up the subject? Why not just eat your breakfast in silence?"

"Because everyone always says that talking helps," Potter replied quietly, his gaze returning to the table. "I needed to tell someone, and I can't exactly talk to anyone else about this, so…"

Snape furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why not? I'm sure your mutt of a Godfather would love - "

"Don't call him that," Potter interrupted. "And I could never talk to him about this."

"Why?"

"Because no one can ever know how scared I am."

"Explain, Potter," Snape ordered, slightly unnerved by the blank acceptance on the boy's face. It was clear by the teenager's expression alone that he believed that the only person he could confide in was a person he had hated for almost five years. And even that concession was only because Potter was sure that he wouldn't care...

"I can't be weak," Potter replied. "I can't be _seen _as weak. Not by anyone. They follow me, Sir. I hate it, but I can't exactly ignore it. Even with half the school hating my guts, people still look to _me _as if I have the answers."

"Do you, Potter?" Snape asked, his tone faintly sneering.

"Of course I don't," Potter replied with a scowl. "But they can't bloody well know that."

"You are not fighting this war, Potter," Snape snapped. "You may be the _Boy-Who-Lived, _but that does not give you special powers. You are no better than anyone else."

"I know that," Potter replied with a small wry smile that showed that he wasn't at all surprised by Snape's reaction. "It doesn't matter what the reality is. It's all about what people _think _the reality is_. _It's how they see me that's important. If they think I'm weak then He's already won."

Snape had always noticed Potter's legions of fans, but never once had he entertained the idea that Potter hated the attention. Yet another of Snape's long term perceptions was crashing down around him. Potter wasn't lying, that much was clear to Snape; he truly believed that he had to hide any weaknesses from his friends as well as his enemies. Had Potter always worn a mask? Did anyone truly know the boy at all?

Snape shook his head slightly to dislodge the thought. "And you told me…?"

"Because you already think I'm weak." Potter muttered. "And if you told anyone, no one would believe you."

"I would not tell anyone," Snape said, before he could properly vet the thought. It was not a lie; ordinarily he would have mentioned a problem like this to the boy's Head of House at least, but once again he was stuck dealing with it himself. Not that he knew _how _to deal with it of course...

Damn the boy.

The boy didn't reply to his brief declaration, but a small nod showed that Snape's words had been heard and understood. Whether or not they had been believed was another matter entirely, but there wasn't much Snape could do about that, even if he had cared enough to try.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence but Snape was too lost in his thoughts to notice. Yet another of his ill-informed perceptions of the boy had come crashing down around his ears, and he had nothing to replace it with. Only more questions...

If the teenager's admission was to be believed, and Snape believed it was, Potter was scared. Ordinary, that would be quite a normal reaction to being poisoned, but Potter, in his experience, was anything but normal.

Potter had always strutted around the school like it was his calling in life to be a celebrity, and yet all this time had it been nothing but a mask? A mask hiding a scared young boy? Had what Snape had been seeing as arrogance all these years really been nothing but desperation...?

Snape glanced at the clock, surprised to find that it was almost nine o'clock. His heart jumped slightly in his chest. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he'd lost track of time. He was due to teach a lesson in half an hour.

"I have to leave to teach a lesson, Potter," Snape said abruptly, rising from his chair. "Can I trust you alone in my quarters?"

Potter gave him a defiant look, but in the end simply nodded. Satisfied for the moment, but making a mental note to check up on the boy as soon as the lesson was over, Snape made to leave the kitchen.

"Wait…" Potter said suddenly. Snape turned back to the boy, a glare forming on his lips.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape snapped.

"What am I supposed to do all day?" Potter replied with a scowl. "I'll be bored."

"Rest, Potter," Snape replied, his thoughts already elsewhere. "If you behave yourself, I'll bring you some of your assignments and you can do them this afternoon. That should keep you from being too _bored."_

"Fine," Potter muttered angrily, returning his attention back to his eggs.

At that, Snape swept from the room, his thoughts too focused on his lesson, and the issues surrounding Potter's state of mind, that he didn't really ponder the ramifications of leaving a scared, angry and very bored teenage boy alone amongst all his possessions.

Potter, Snape thought with a scowl, would have to wait yet again.

* * *

**A/N -** Another short chapter, but again I found this very difficult to write. It's entirely possibly that this chapter is peppered with mistakes, but I'm too tired to read through it again (It's 2.50 am where I live) so I've posted it like it is. Hopefully you still like it, and thanks for reading!


	12. The Nightmare

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N – **Hello again! Another chapter has arrived! Thank you for all your reviews and support after the last update. I am so overwhelmed by all your kind words and I only hope that this story continues to do justice to your praise. I hope you like it!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Nightmare**

* * *

By the time lunchtime arrived, Harry felt as if he was going slowly mad.

Glancing around the darkened bedroom as he lay on his back, exhausted and in pain but with his mind fully alert, Harry wondered how exactly his life had gotten to the point where his only choice was between death and hiding out in Snape's quarters…with absolutely nothing to do but wait until the greasy git came to check up on him. It really was a low point in a life where he had experienced very few highs. Harry's chest ached and his body was exhausted, but even that wasn't enough to occupy his mind for more than a few minutes, and the lack of friendly contact was really starting to get to him.

Harry was bored. And frustrated. And angry.

And bored.

With some difficulty, Harry finally pulled himself up on the bed, his chest throbbing slightly as he adjusted himself. He'd been lying there for hours. He'd tried to sleep for at least some of that time but even though his body was weak, his mind was fully alert. It wouldn't let him rest, forcing him instead to turn over all the information he had learnt in the last few days, obsessing over the poisoner, Voldemort, Snape, Umbridge, and every other problem that seemed to make his life miserable at the moment.

He dwelled on who had poisoned him, and how they had managed to do so undetected. He dwelled on Snape's odd recent behaviour, and how completely disconcerting it was.

Harry even dwelled on the dreams of the corridor that had been plaguing him for months before the poisoning had taken over his life. With everything that had happened in the last couple of days, Harry had almost forgotten about that particular obsession, but it came back in full force now that he had nothing to distract him from it. It wasn't as though he could ask Snape about it either, since the man would definitely refuse to say anything on the subject.

No, he was alone, fighting against a foe he couldn't see, with only a very reluctant and bitter Snape for company.

_Hogwarts was supposed to be better!_ Harry angrily thought to himself as he sat up on the bed. _It was supposed to be his refuge!_

Harry clenched his fists in anger, the knuckles turning whiter the longer his held them tight. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that was quickly overtaking any exhaustion. The anger had burst out quickly and ferociously, having built up over the days he had spent in the dungeons.

It wasn't fair; he knew it sounded childish, but why couldn't something in his life just be good for once? Why did everything always get tainted? Hogwarts had been his home since the moment he had first set foot on the grounds and yet in the past year, ever since that bloody Triwizard Tournament, it just felt….different. Umbridge, Voldemort, the poisoner….they had taken his home from him.

As this realisation hit him, Harry felt the weight of anger lift from him, leaving tired despair in its place. Unclenching his fists, Harry brought his hands to his head, running a shaky hand though his messy hair as he fought to regain control. A headache was building in his temple, his chest was aching with every breath, and he was…scared.

In the past, he'd always felt safe within the walls of the old castle – safer than with the Dursleys at any rate. Hogwarts had always been a comfort to him during the darkest points of his life. In fact, even during the long summers with his relatives, just knowing that Hogwarts would always be there to welcome him home had been enough to keep him from giving up altogether. The thought had always kept him alive, had kept him hoping for a better life.

But he wasn't safe anymore, and that hope had all but extinguished. If he was honest with himself, he hadn't felt happy, truly happy, in a long time. He wasn't even sure he had it in him to even _be _happy anymore. Ron and Hermione were great, and they kept him sane, but in the past year especially, he'd just had too much to deal with. The burden was all his, and he was growing tired of it.

For the first time since entering the Wizarding World, Harry was seriously doubting whether there was any point fighting it anymore. If there was any point fighting at all. He was tired, _exhausted _really, and with the threat of a poisoner hanging over him, Harry just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up…

Harry shook the thought from his head. He couldn't think like that. He was a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake; he needed to stop feeling sorry for himself and start _doing _something.

He pulled himself off the bed and stood on shaky feet. He was sick of feeling weak, of feeling like he had no control over his own life. He was sick of feeling _sick!_

Snape wasn't exactly helping either. Harry still didn't know what to make of the man's mood swings. The bastard might have saved his life, but he was still acting like the slimy git he had always been.

When Harry had told him about being scared, he'd _expected_ the Professor to say nothing and do nothing. It was the reason he had told him in the first place. He didn't want any sympathy or any help; he just wanted someone to _know._

It had still hurt though, when Snape had made it clear how much he really didn't care. The man had barely reacted to the confession, and apart from saying that he wouldn't tell anyone, he hadn't acknowledged the admittance in any way whatsoever. Harry had expected it, prepared for it, and even planned for it, and yet it still hurt to know how much Snape _still_ hated him.

Merlin, he wished Hermione and Ron were here with him. Being stuck alone in the dungeons was beginning to take its toll. He was alone, angry and frustrated.

He was bored.

There was no way he could spend another second in this bloody bedroom, with nothing to do, and nothing to distract him from all his problems.

Slowly he made his way over to the door, shuffling across the floor, his legs aching with the effort. The potion Snape had given him that morning had helped with his breathing, but the tiredness just didn't seem to be going away. He pushed the feeling away as best he could though, eager to escape the confines of the dark bedroom.

He felt like he was going mad.

As he crept out of the bedroom and into Snape's main quarters, Harry couldn't help but be slightly nervous. Although Snape hadn't explicitly told him that he couldn't leave the bedroom, the order had definitely been implied.

Ah, well. What was life without a little risk?

Well aware of the hypocrisy of that last thought, but not willing to dwell on it any longer, Harry made his way into the cold living room of his Potions Master's quarters. He shivered slightly, tugging at the sleeves of his thin pyjamas. Not for the first time, he wished he had his own clothes to wear, but there wasn't anything to be done about it at the moment. Maybe he could ask Snape…

Harry shook his head, almost before the thought had fully formed. Snape might have been fairly reasonable so far, but Harry was sure it wouldn't last. Snape had made Harry's life miserable for years; why in Merlin's name would he change that behaviour now?

Pushing the thought away, Harry wandered around the room, allowing his curiosity to reign over him. There must be something he could do here…

He shuffled over to the large bookcase that seemed to dominate the room. It didn't entirely surprise Harry; Snape had always seemed the intellectual type. As he moved closer, Harry noticed that the majority of the books were to do with Potions; again, not hugely surprising. Harry ran a finger over the spines of the books, reading the titles as he tried to find one that could satisfy his boredom. He knew he couldn't leave the confines of these bloody quarters, and he doubted that Snape had anything else here that would keep Harry occupied.

No, it was either this, or sleep. And, despite the fact that exhaustion was fast returning, Harry had had enough of sleeping.

In the end, Harry just picked up a potions book at random and made his way wearily over to the sofa by the fireplace. Despite his urge to leave the bedroom, Harry had to admit that it had probably been a bad idea. The potions he was on seemed to help with his breathing, but he still tired much more quickly than normal.

Stupid, bloody poison.

Eager to distract himself from the thoughts that had been plaguing him all morning, Harry opened the old book and began to read, losing himself in the words, anything to escape his own thoughts. He didn't want to think about the poisoning, Umbridge or Voldemort. He definitely didn't want to think about Snape...

The book, surprisingly, turned out to be quite interesting, and not at all as dull as Harry had first thought. It actually held his attention quite well. Harry was still ill though, and it wasn't long before exhaustion caught up with him. Eventually, his eyelids began to droop, and before he could even register what was happening, he finally closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to come upon him, down, down, until he knew no more…

* * *

_He was fourteen again. _

_He was back in the graveyard._

_The night-time air in the graveyard was freezing cold, sending shivers all the way down his tense frame. Harry's limbs shook violently against the ropes that trapped him, even despite being bound so tightly to the gravestone that he could barely move. At this point Harry wasn't even sure if the tremors were simply because of the cold, or if they were also partly due to the fear that was almost overwhelming him. _

_Harry tried to take a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself, but it was all too much and, despite his best efforts, his heart continued to beat loudly in his chest. His eyes were wide in terror as he looked around desperately, frantically searching for a way out, anything that would let him escape the circle of Death Eaters with his life intact. The ropes that bound him to the grave stone stung at his skin but still he fought against them with every ounce of strength he had left. _

_He didn't want to die..._

_The Death Eaters cackled as he struggled. Harry tried to look away but his eyes caught the unmoving body lying face-down in the grass not far from him. Cedric? His mind screamed at the boy to wake up but there was no answer, only deadened eyes staring back at him. Harry struggled against the binds with desperation, causing the pain in his leg to increase ten-fold and the ache in his body to double in intensity. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn't free himself, and the panic rising up in him made his chest tighten almost against his will. Then it got worse._

_Harry watched, with widened eyes, as Voldemort made his way slowly towards him. Red eyes met green. There was no way out, no escape._

_He was going to die..._

"_Potter…"_

_No…_

"_Potter…"_

"Potter!"

Harry's eyes snapped open, his body jerking as he came to. His chest heaved as he tried to regain control of his breathing, sweat poring off his forehead as the remnants of the nightmare began to trickle from his mind. What had happened? Was he safe?

"Potter!" Snape said urgently, concern colouring his tone.

"I'm awake," Harry snapped, as his thoughts began to come back to him. He pushed the nightmare away with a ferocious anger as he worked furiously to calm down. It took a few seconds for him to remember where he was, but when he did, it did nothing to steady his breathing. He'd fallen asleep on the couch. In Snape's quarters.

Bloody hell. Snape had seen…

"Potter…"

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly, brushing a hand hurriedly over his forehead to wipe away the sweat. He pulled himself up off the sofa, the book falling off his lap and onto the floor with dull thud. Harry stood unsteadily but dizziness came upon him and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

"Potter, just sit down," Snape told him, gesturing back to the sofa, his tone allowing no room for argument. Harry did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the sofa with an anxiousness that he could not quite control.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled. "I didn't – "

"Poppy mentioned that you have nightmares on occasion," Snape interrupted. "I'll admit, I did not expect them to be so…violent."

"I'm fine," Harry muttered.

"No, you are not, Potter," Snape said, an odd look on his face. "Perhaps that is my fault. You are isolated here. You are scared. I should have been more…sympathetic."

"I'm fine," Harry insisted. "I just fell asleep…"

"You are stuck here," Snape continued as if Harry had not even spoken. "Whether either of us wants it or not, the fact remains that you cannot leave. I believe that we have no choice but to make the best of a bad situation."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. Where was Snape going with this? Surely, he didn't want to be friends or something…

"You will tell me what is bothering you, and I will attempt to help you," Snape ground out, as if it was the last thing that Snape wanted to say.

"Help me?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape said with a frustrated roll of his eyes. "Help you. If you tell me your problems, I will… endeavour to find a suitable solution that makes this situation a little more tolerable for you."

"Oh," Harry said lamely. That settled it. Either Snape had gone mad, or Harry was still dreaming.

"So, Potter," Snape began, "What is wrong?"

Harry shifted on the sofa, jostling his chest and sending shooting pain through his lungs. The pain was all too real. Not a dream then…

"Right, erm…well," Harry began uncertainly, still convinced that this was a trick somehow. "I'm bored."

"You're bored," Snape repeated.

"Yeah, I…I have nothing to do," Harry continued, not sure why he was even talking to Snape about this. The nightmare had obviously left him a little off kilter. "All it makes me do is worry. I have too much time to think at the moment."

"And thinking is bad?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I knew you'd make fun of me," Harry snapped, taking the gesture as an insult of his intelligence. "I knew it – "

"Potter, calm down," Snape interrupted. "I was not making fun of you. I was merely clarifying your meaning."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, a little embarrassed by his reaction. The nightmare had definitely left him a little off-kilter.

"As it happens," Snape continued slowly. "I believe I understand how you're feeling. I myself, on occasion, have felt that having time alone is sometimes harmful to one's state of mind."

"I feel like I'm going mad," Harry admitted quietly. "And the nightmare..."

"Is your head hurting?" Snape interrupted suddenly.

"What – "

"You are rubbing your scar," Snape pointed out. Harry stilled his movements; he hadn't even noticed he'd been rubbing at it. "Is it bothering you?"

"It's fine," Harry replied, his hand dropping back to his side. "It's normal."

"You may have a Headache Reliever if you wish," offered Snape, a faint trace of concern in his expression.

"Won't help," Harry replied dully, the headache throbbing in his temple. He hadn't really noticed the pain before, but it was building by the second.

Snape looked concerned at Harry's reply, but thankfully didn't press Harry further. The silence between them grew more uncomfortable, though neither seemed willing to break it. Harry grimaced slightly as the pain throbbed in his scar.

"It's Voldemort," Harry said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

"The Dark Lord?" asked Snape, although he didn't seem to be surprised by the turn in conversation.

"The reason my scar hurts," Harry explained. "It's him."

"I had already come to that conclusion," Snape replied. "Potter…"

"Yes?"

"Your nightmare…?" Snape began uncertainly.

"You think he's going to try and get to me in my sleep, don't you?" Harry asked dully. The thought had already crossed his mind.

"It is likely," Snape admitted. "You nightmare…"

"It was normal," Harry answered quickly. "Just your run of the mill, average, horrible nightmare."

"Do you wish to talk about it?" Snape asked with a frown. It was clear, by his expression alone, that Snape did have any desire to hear about the nightmare. Thankfully, that suited Harry just fine.

"No," Harry replied quickly. "I mean…I'm fine. I'm used to it."

Snape frowned again. "You should not be used to it, Potter."

"Well I am," Harry replied, growing more frustrated by the second. "Look, why do you care?"

Snape's eyes bored into Harry's and the teenager did his best not to quail under the look. When Snape finally spoke, it was with a seriousness and sincerity that Harry had never seen in the man before.

"You are…not the person I thought you were."

Harry was so taken aback by the words that any reply got stuck in his throat. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Snape, _Snape, _of all people, had admitted that he was wrong.

In the end, Harry chose to laugh, although the bitter sound seemed out of place coming from his young face.

"You've finally realised that I'm not my dad, then," he replied bitterly. Snape scowled at the attitude but he said nothing in return, and Harry saw that as licence to continue. The anger built up in him before he could even register it. "I never knew him! That's the thing that no one seems to understand. They died! When I was one year old! I never bloody knew either of them!"

"Potter…"

"You always used to tell me how much I was like my dad," Harry continued. "But it was always meant as an insult. Do you understand how much that _hurt? _I knew nothing about him. When I was a kid, I craved every little scrap I could get about them."

"Potter…"

"I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THEIR NAMES!" Harry yelled. The anger had burst from him as if from nowhere, and he could no more control it than he could stop breathing. "I knew nothing! And you had the nerve to tell me how horrible he was! And how much I was like him. I always hated you for that Snape, but you made me hate him too!"

"Why…"

"Because he left!" Harry yelled. "Because he could never prove you wrong…"

Harry bent over, resting his head in his hands as he fought to regain control. Despair overtook anger and tears leaked out of Harry's eyes against his will. He tried to clench them shut but it was futile.

"Potter…"

"What do you want, Snape?" Harry snapped angrily.

"Potter," Snape said suddenly, his tone very urgent, sending a tendril of dread down Harry's spine. "Listen to me. This is very important. The anger…"

"What about it?"

"Is it yours, Potter?" Snape said urgently, gripping Harry by the shoulder. "Is it entirely yours?"

"What do you mean…?" Harry asked quietly, apprehension rising through his body. Snape couldn't mean…

Harry focused on his mind, on his emotions, trying to work out if he was in control, if it was all his. It had come on so suddenly, as if a foreign force…

"Shit," Harry swore, eyes wide as panic began to take over. His breathing became eratic and it was all he could do to keep air going into his lungs.

"Calm down, Potter…"

"Shit," Harry repeated, ignoring Snape. "It's him. You think Voldemort…"

"Calm down," Snape repeated urgently. "Breathe. I do not think the Dark Lord is attacking you."

"Then what?" Harry asked desperately.

"Before today, have you been feeling any foreign emotion?" Snape asked. "Any feelings that do not belong to you?"

"Yes," Harry whispered.

"He is taking advantage of you," Snape told him. "You lost control of your emotions and it gave him a way into your mind. He preyed on your anger. On your lack of control."

"It's worse when I'm asleep," Harry told him quietly, his voice hoarse. "I see more. I feel more."

"You have less control when you are asleep," Snape replied. "That is why you experience…visions. Your mind is open to him."

A horrific thought struck Harry. "Did he see…? Does he know that I'm sick?"

Snape took a long time before he finally answered. "I cannot be sure…"

"Please, Sir." He needed to know. He needed to know if he was putting them in danger. If Voldemort had seen Harry in Snape's quarters. If he knew that the man had been helping him…well, Harry might not like Snape, but he didn't deserve to die. Harry refused to put the man in danger.

"I do not believe so, Potter," Snape said finally. "I believe he is simply reacting to your emotions. Had he tried to actually enter your mind fully, the pain, I expect, would have been unimaginable."

"I can't…I don't know what to do," Harry admitted, his voice cracking slightly. All trace of anger was gone now, despair replacing it with ease.

"You must stay calm," Snape told him firmly, a slightly glimmer of concern in his dark eyes. "You must stay in control. You cannot give him the opening that you did today. You must learn how to control your own mind."

Harry knew what he was saying. Dread filled his mind, panic abating slightly now that the anger had left.

"You mean…"

"I'm afraid, Potter," Snape said quietly. "That we must resume Occlumency lessons. And this time, we must succeed. For the sake of us all."

* * *

**A/N**- Oooh, poor Harry! I really hope you liked this chapter. I actually really enjoyed writing this; angry Harry is so much fun, and it was about time someone shouted at Snape. I hope they were fairly in character though, despite the changing perceptions that they're both experiencing?

On another note, I'd really like to ask for some advice as well. This story had gotten a lot bigger than I'd ever planned (it was only supposed to be 5 chapters at the most when I first started writing). Now, there are two ways I could go with it at the moment. I could either draw the whole thing to an end in a couple of chapters, revealing the poisoner, capturing them and then freeing Harry from the confines of Snape's quarters etc. In this scenario, that would be the end; Snape and Harry would go back to normal pretty much and the books would carry on as they did in cannon.

Or, I could take the story further. The poisoner would still be caught but I've had a number of ideas on how to expand the story, into more chapters and into a greater story arch. It would be a lot longer, but would definitely have more Snape/Harry character development.

So, what would you like to see? Let me know, and most of all, thanks for reading!


	13. The Lesson

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N** – A new chapter has arrived! Thank you for all your responses to the last chapter. The overwhelming majority voted for a longer story, so that is precisely what you're going to get. Strap in, it's going to be a bumpy ride!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Lesson**

* * *

"Are you ready, Potter?" Snape asked carefully, his eyes taking in the faintly shaking limbs of the boy in front of him. Snape raised his wand towards Potter, but the teenager made no move to defend himself. He didn't even pull himself up from the couch.

Instead, startled green eyes shot up to meet his stern, unmoving gaze. "What…right now?"

Snape resisted the urge to snap at the boy in frustration, although to be honest, it was a close call. Instead he took a deep breath, attempting at least push away his anger. As much as he didn't like Potter, he knew, logically, that it would be counterproductive to push the boy's anger any further.

Potter truly was testing his limits of restraint though…

"I have some time before my lesson this afternoon," Snape replied tightly. "We will continue Occlumency lessons now, and then you will spend the afternoon practicing. You must learn this, Potter."

At least, Snape acknowledged to himself, with this new emphasis on learning how to protect his mind, Potter would no longer be bored. Restless and frustrated, maybe even scared, but not bored.

Green eyes met his gaze, and the apprehension was clear in Potter's expression. "I'm…"

"You're what, Potter?" Snape snapped, although the flash of anger in the boy's eyes made Snape regret his brief lack of control. If they kept this up, Potter would stand no chance of learning the skill that would keep them all safe. It was vital, _urgent_, that Potter learned how to defend himself against the Dark Lord. So far Potter had only felt a heightening of negative emotions, but the potential for something worse was an ever present danger. If the Dark Lord somehow managed to control Potter's actions…

Snape forced his face into a careful, blank expression, hoping to hide his own stress from the boy. It took far more effort than Snape would ever care to admit though, even to himself. Honestly, the brief attack of anger from Potter had rattled him. The threat that the Dark Lord held over Potter's mind had never seemed so clear as it had when Snape had stared into angry green eyes that were tinged with red. The Dark Lord had seen an opening and had taken it. Potter had to learn…

"Never mind," Potter mumbled moodily. The boy finally brought himself to his feet and straightened his shoulders slightly. "Can I have my wand, please?"

Snape bit back a scathing retort against the boy's sarcasm, his blank expression still in place. At least the boy wasn't fighting him anymore. In fact, if Snape wasn't mistaken he thought he detected a sense of determination in the boy. Snape nodded slightly, pleased that Potter wasn't being difficult for once. Good.

Snape turned his back on the Gryffindor and moved over to his book case. The boy had dropped his wand when he'd first collapsed in Potions all those days ago, and Snape had made sure to keep it from him since. Nobody knew that Potter was here, so the boy was safe for the moment, therefore Snape hadn't seen the need for him to have his wand. That, and he had no intention of leaving Potter an easier way of wreaking havoc in his quarters. The boy got in plenty of trouble even without his wand.

Gripping the unfamiliar wand with an air of distaste, Snape turned back to Potter and reluctantly held it out to him. In this case, as much as he still detested the idea, he could at least accept that didn't have much choice in giving the Golden boy back his wand. They wouldn't make much progress if Potter wasn't given at least the chance to defend himself.

Potter took it with only a small scowl, a fact Snape found himself grateful for. The teenager held it out protectively in front of himself and Snape sighed slightly as he noted the apprehension in the boy's entire frame. Potter needed to understand how important this is...

"I realise," Snape began tightly, fixing an intense gaze onto Potter, "That this is difficult for you. But Potter, you must learn this. You _must. _If you do not, a poisoner will be the least of your troubles. If the Dark Lord even gets a hint that you are not at full strength, he will attack and no one will be able to stop him. You must protect yourself."

Potter nodded jerkily, paling slightly, but Snape did not regret his words. The boy needed to understand what was at stake if he were to fail. It would not only be Potter's life that would be forfeit, but Snape's as well. If the Dark Lord looked through Potter's eyes, if he saw Snape helping the boy, saving his life...Well, there would be no doubt that his death would be a horrific and painful one. The Dark Lord did not forgive traitors…

"Right, I'm ready," Potter said with another shaky nod, although it seemed more like he was trying to convince himself more than his Professor. Snape did not mock him though, nor, for once, did he feel any satisfaction at seeing Potter so vulnerable; he didn't blame Potter for being scared. Not this time.

Snape steeled himself and raised his wand once again. "Legilimens!"

As soon as he entered Potter's mind, Snape found himself enveloped in chaos.

Snape had always hated the sense of being in another person's mind, especially someone as erratic and emotional as Potter. The boy's mind was like a storm, thoughts swirling around with no coherency or order.

Quickly, pushing aside his own discomfort, Snape latched onto the first memory he could; one of a young boy in a small dark space. Potter could only be five in the memory, his face still round and innocent, a fact still clear even in the darkness. No doubt he was playing some game of hide and seek or some such nonsense. Quickly, he flew from the memory and latched onto the next one he came across, hoping to disorient Potter. So far, frustratingly, there had only been a minimal resistance from Potter - not nearly enough to drive Snape from his mind.

The memories flickered by, too fast for Snape to properly register what they were of; all he caught were flashes of a life, nothing more. His aim was to panic Potter, to stress his mind into attacking the intrusion on instinct. When teaching Occlumency, the importance was not on the teaching but on the student. He couldn't tell Potter_ how_ to push him out, because he had no idea how Potter's mind worked. It was different for everyone.

Snape persevered for another couple of minutes, but it was clear that Potter's resistance was deteriorating, not strengthening. The boy was tiring...

Snape pulled himself from the boy's mind as quickly as possible, but Potter still fell to his knees, his wand held limply by his side.

"Potter?"

"I'm fine," came the reply. Potter's breaths were coming out shaky and weak, but at least they were coming. The teenager pulled himself back to his feet, but Snape was alarmed by how pale he was. The teenagers limbs were faintly shaking, and the grimace on his face showed just how much pain Potter was still in. Snape forced himself to ignore it though, meeting Potter's determined gaze; if Potter wanted to continue then that is precisely what they would do.

"Potter, you must try harder," Snape ground out as he watched Potter stand on weak legs. "Control your emotions and your thoughts. Try to clear your mind."

Frustration built up in Snape, and it pushed aside his concerns about the boy's poor condition. In fact, all Snape could focus on was the danger that they were in. Did Potter not realise how important this was? Did he not realise what would happen if the Dark Lord learned what they were doing…?

"I'm trying!" Potter snapped. Snape glared at him, but didn't say anything further. Truth be told, Potter _was _trying. There was no denying it. Potter's pale, sweaty face, grimacing in pain…there was no question that the boy was _trying, _but that didn't explain why he had felt so little resistance_. _The teenager adjusted his glasses, standing unsteadily by the sofa as he waited for Snape to raise his wand.

Snape sighed but pushed away his concern once again. This was too important. "Again."

Potter looked up at him defiantly, nodding jerkily as he prepared himself for another go.

"Legil – "

"Wait!" Potter burst out suddenly, his wand dropping to his side. Snape lowered his wand, but he felt his temper brewing at the surface of his mind. What was the boy playing at?

"Potter – "

"Just, wait a minute," Potter said shakily, and Snape frowned. Maybe he had overestimated the boy's energy reserves. Truthfully, Potter already looked like he was on his last legs.

"If you wish, we could take a short break," Snape offered tightly, although it went against his better judgement. Now that they knew that Voldemort had a certain amount of control over Potter's emotions, there was no way that the boy could go on with no defence. It would be like giving the Dark Lord open access to the boy's mind. If the Dark Lord gained control over Potter, that would spell disaster for them all.

"No," Potter said with a shake of his head. "I don't need a break."

"What then?" Snape asked. Potter avoided his gaze, but it didn't hide the clear exhaustion that was emanating from the boy.

"Whatever you're doing," the boy began, still looking at the floor. "It isn't working. My head…it feels worse."

Snape growled dangerously. "_Your head h__urts_. You want to stop because you have a headache?"

"Look, if you could just explain…"

"Occlumency is not something that can be simply _explained, _Potter," Snape said angrily, frustration finally getting the better of him. "It is different for everyone – "

"It's not working!" Potter muttered angrily.

"Because we have not found a way that works for you," Snape replied, trying to control his own temper. "These attacks are supposed to force your mind to find a way to block my intrusion."

"I just…I can't do it!"

"You _must, _Potter," Snape replied. "If the Dark Lord finds a way into your mind…"

"I know," Potter muttered, although anger seemed to have been replaced by desolation. Snape wasn't sure if that was any better.

"Potter…"

"I know!" The teenager took a deep, steadying breath before meeting Snape's eyes. "It's just…you're going too fast. I barely have time to even get a hold of myself before you've moved on to the next memory."

"The Dark Lord will not show patience - "

"Yeah, but you're _not _the Dark Lord," Potter argued desperately. "Can't you just slow down a bit? I just need time to try and push you out."

Against his better judgement, Snape found himself annoyingly agreeing with the boy. It was clear that his previous method of instruction was no closer to getting any results, and the longer they carried on like this, there more frustrated they would both get. Dammit, they did not have time for this...

"Fine," Snape sighed, raising his wand once again.

This time when he entered Potter's mind, he found the memories no more ordered than they had been last time, though none the less he still managed to latch onto one. This time, he forced himself to allow the memory to play on.

_Potter was young in the memory. Maybe five or six. It was hard to tell; the boy had always been rather small and skinny for his age. Hopefully, Snape thought as he watched the scene, it would be a fairly innocuous memory; he didn't think either he or Potter could take anything stronger at the moment. _

_As the memory continued, Snape watched the young Potter carefully as he made his way into a Muggle kitchen. Was the boy limping? Snape felt a small resistance hit his mind but he pushed it away with ease, curiosity taking over for the moment. What was Potter up to?_

"_Aunt 'Tunia?" the young Potter said, talking to a woman Snape immediately recognised as Lily's sister. The woman had certainly__ not aged well._

"_What is it, boy?" she snapped, preoccupied with preparations for dinner. _

_Snape was slightly surprised by the woman's tone. A small part of him, one that went against his common sense, had still been expecting Potter's relatives to treat him like a Prince, even despite the suspicions he had about the boy's home life._

"_I've done in the garden," Potter said quietly, head bowed. _

_Well that confirmed at least some of his suspicions; Potter had not been the least bit shocked by the harsh tone. No, standing in the muggle kitchen was a boy who was used to being talked to like that. Snape frowned to himself as the memory continued to play._

"_Get over here then," snapped Petunia irritably. "Come on. You can help with dinner."_

_Dutifully, Potter shuffled over – with a definite limp, Snape noted – head still bent. With a skill that told Snape as much about Potter's place in this family as anything else, Potter picked up a peeler and began to deal with the carrots. He didn't say a word, and Snape was beginning to doubt whether anything was going to happen at all. He felt the teenage Potter push against his mind once again, with a little more force this time, but still it wasn't enough to dislodge him. Potter had asked him to stay in the memories longer and that was precisely what he intended to do. Even if they were stuck in this memory all day…_

_CRASH!_

_Snape's focus jerked back to the memory in question. The young Potter had accidently knocked a plate off the kitchen surface, smashing it to little pieces on the floor. It had clearly been an accident, but it was Petunia's reaction that Snape found most interesting. She was looking at the boy as if he had just killed a kitten._

_Slap!_

_She'd slapped the boy! For breaking a plate! The ridiculous of the overreaction, however, was quickly overtaken by the horror and dread that was rapidly building in Snape's chest. This was not the childhood of a spoilt brat. It was the childhood of someone like himself..._

"_Idiot child!" she berated, showing no concern for the hand shaped mark that was darkening on the boy's face. Potter, for his part, appeared to be trying to hold back tears. __Before the small boy could even respond though, a large man joined the commotion waddling into the room with surprising speed. Potter's Uncle perhaps?_

"_Boy," the man growled dangerously._

"_I didn't mean to," Potter cried desperately. "Uncle, I swear, I didn't mean – "_

"_I don't want to hear your snivelling boy!" Potter's Uncle yelled. The overweight man grabbed the small boy by the hair, yanking him away from the kitchen. "You've done enough!"_

"_But – "_

_Whatever protest the boy was going to make was silenced with a dangerous glare from his Uncle. Weariness seemed to take the place of injustice and panic then, and in that moment, Snape knew that this was not a one-time occurrence. This was a boy who was not in the least bit shocked by the actions of his family. Rather, it was someone who was clearly used to it. Damn it._

"_Don't expect any food tonight, boy," the Uncle sneered as he dragged young Potter into the hallway. He stopped and pushed the boy towards the cupboard under the stairs, and the child hit the wall with a harsh thud. Though Snape was confused, Potter, it seemed, knew exactly what was expected of him. The small child shakily pulled the cupboard door open, limping his way into the darkness. No sooner had he made his way into the small space, than his Uncle had slammed the door shut, fixing a lock firmly to the side._

_Tears began to stream from the small boy's face as darkness enveloped his small frame._

_And finally Potter pushed him out…_

Snape felt the connection break as he was wrenched from the boy's mind. In truth, he put up very little effort to stay there. Once he came back to himself properly, Snape noticed that his hand was shaking slightly but he simply clenched his fists as he fought to regain control. That memory…

"Potter," Snape began but the words stilled in his throat. To have suspicions about mistreatment was one thing, but to have them confirmed, and in the horrific manner that he had just experienced, was another thing entirely. He had no idea what to say. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will the problem away by sheer force…

"Shall we try again then, sir?" Potter asked quietly, although there was a faint tremble in the boy's throat.

Was the boy being serious? Did he honestly expect Snape to ignore that last memory?

"Nice try, Potter," Snape replied tightly. "But no, we will not be trying again."

Snape sighed as he observed Potter, slightly alarmed by how pale the Gryffindor had become. Once again he was reminded of the fact that the boy had been poisoned recently. It was strange how easily that fact seemed to slip his mind at times. He briefly wondered if it would be better to leave this undoubtedly difficult conversation for another time, a time when the boy was feeling stronger and more himself, but Snape pushed this idea aside almost immediately. This _could not_ be put off any longer. In truth, by the looks of that last memory, it had already been put off far too long.

Snape's own terrible memories shoved their way to the front of his mind and it was all he could do to push them away. Potter was not like him. He was not…

"Come with me," Snape told him.

It was a sign of how shaken Potter was that he didn't question the order. Without another word, Snape tried to gather his thoughts as he gestured Potter towards the kitchen.

Snape had no idea how to deal with this.

He had been Head of House for a number of years now, and had been forced on occasion to help a child who was having difficulties at home, but this…Potter was a different issue altogether. Even though Snape could, at least reluctantly, now accept that he had perhaps unfairly judged the boy over the years, Snape still did not like Potter, and he knew that it was a feeling that was most definitely returned. Potter did not trust him – something that Snape couldn't entirely blame him for – so how in Merlin's name was he going to get the boy to trust him with this?

Potter shakily took a seat at the kitchen table, and Snape took the moment to observe the boy once more. Everything had changed in the last few days, everything that he always believed about Potter, but that memory was the last straw. Potter was not spoiled. Oh no, not in the least...

Snape steeled himself. There was nothing for it; he would have to force the boy to talk. There was no one else who could deal with it since Potter was in hiding, and as much as he didn't like the boy, this couldn't be allowed to continue. Snape sighed. Damn it all.

"Tell me about that last memory, Potter," he began, trying to keep his tone neutral. He took a seat at the table, fixing his gaze onto Potter, but the teenager avoided his eyes.

Potter scowled. "Why?"

The question surprised Snape, who took a few moments to gather his thoughts. Eventually he settled for the blunt truth.

"Because you have no other choice."

This time it was Potter's turn to look surprised.

"I don't have to talk to anyone about this," Potter replied defiantly, his eyes finally rising to meet Snape's gaze. "I can handle it fine on my own."

"Handle what, Potter?"

"You know what," Potter replied stubbornly.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Potter," Snape warned. He was not going to ignore this, and he was not going to allow Potter to ignore it either. Not any longer.

This would be dealt with.

"Does your Aunt slap you often?" Snape asked. Potter closed his eyes at the question, gulping deeply.

"Look, Snape – "

"No, Potter," Snape interrupted. "I asked you a question and you will answer it. Does your Aunt slap you often?"

Potter shrugged slightly in reply.

"Potter…"

"Fine," Potter snapped. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes she slaps me," Potter muttered.

"And your Uncle, Potter?" Snape prompted, taking a deep breath to control his anger at the boy's relatives, as well as every adult in Potter's life that had failed to notice how bad his home life was. Including himself.

"What about him?" Potter asked stubbornly.

"Does he hit you?"

In the memory, Potter's Uncle had only really been heavy-handed at most, but with the fear that the young boy had been displaying, Snape doubted that it had never got worse than that.

Potter shrugged again, but this time answered. "Sometimes."

"Why did you never tell anyone, Potter?" Snape asked. It was the one thing that had shocked Snape more than anything else about the whole thing. Why had Potter never mentioned to _anyone _that he had been abused?

"Never came up," Potter mumbled.

"Potter," Snape growled. " Do not test my patience. You and I both know that you made sure that it would never come up. Why?"

"Look, so I had a rotten childhood," Potter replied bitterly, avoiding the question with a shrug. "Why does it matter?"

"Because you are still a child, you foolish boy," Snape argued. "It matters because the people who are supposed to take care of you, clearly cannot."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me!"

"Of course you do!" Snape argued. "You're fifteen, Potter."

"Nearly sixteen," Harry muttered stubbornly.

"Nearly sixteen," Snape allowed. "Wizards are only of age when they turn seventeen. As you have yet to reach that particular milestone, you are still a child."

"In the eyes of the law maybe," Harry argued. "But not in reality. I might not technically be an adult yet, but I'm not a kid either. I can take care of myself."

"That does not make it right, Potter." Snape did not understand. "Do you honestly believe that because you are no longer a child, you are therefore no longer entitled to receive help?"

Potter had always given the impression of having every member of staff, bar himself of course, under his thumb. There were Professors who would have died for the boy, and certainly not a single one of them would have allowed the abuse to continue for another day. So why had Potter never said anything?

"No," Potter muttered.

"So what then?" Snape asked. Snape needed to understand this; if he was to help the boy, he needed to know. "Why did you hide it?"

"Because," Potter said, apparently steeling himself. Green eyes rose to meet black. "No one wants a damaged hero."

* * *

**A/N- **So what do you think? This was a big step in the Snape and Harry saga, but it doesn't end there. Snape knows about the abuse, to an extent at least, but what will he do about it now? How will Harry react to his most hated Professor knowing his darkest secret? And will Tonks ever solve the mystery of the poisoner. All of these questions, and more, will be answered soon, I promise. Until then, thanks for reading and let me know what you think!


	14. The Talk

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N** – Hello! Yes, I'm back with another chapter, and hopefully I'll be ready to answer some of the questions I posed at the end of the last chapter. Things will start to move a little more quickly from now on - something that will make more sense when you get to the end of the chapter, so prepare yourselves. For now, I hope you enjoy it, and if you've got a minute, let me know what you think!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Talk**

* * *

Harry dropped his gaze, determined not to appear weak in front of the Professor. He wasn't sure why he'd spoken at all, why he'd actually told the man the truth, but there was no taking it back now. Apparently, the memory had shaken him even more than he'd first thought, and that really was saying something. What must Snape think of him…?

"Tea, Potter?"

Lost in his thoughts, it took Harry a few seconds to register what Snape had said, but when the question finally filtered through, Harry wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not.

"Excuse me?" he asked uncertainly.

In truth, Harry was as taken aback and confused as he had been when Umbridge had sent him to McGonagall's office last term. At the time, he'd expected his Head of House to shout at him, but instead she'd offered him biscuits. Had all the teachers at this school gone bloody mad…?

"Would you like some tea?" Snape repeated.

"Erm, okay."

He hadn't imagined it then. Professor Snape, great bat of the Dungeon, really had just offered him tea. Maybe it wasn't the teachers who'd gone mad. Maybe it was he himself who needed a one-way ticket to the insanity ward at St Mungo's…

"Potter," Snape said, interrupting Harry's maudlin thoughts. Harry shook himself slightly as Snape placed a steaming mug of tea in front of him before joining him at the kitchen table. Harry ran a nervous hand through his messy hair as he tried to get a hold of himself. The memory had weakened him, rattled him, but he'd be damned if he was going to let Snape see that.

"I'm fine," Harry said, hoping to stall any unwanted concern or questioning. Maybe Snape would ignore the memory. He'd always hated Harry after all. Maybe he would just let this go…

"We need to discuss this, Potter."

Damn.

"Discuss, what?" Harry replied quietly as he took a sip of the tea. He hoped that by playing dumb, Snape would realise that he didn't want to talk about it, and he'd let it go…

"The abuse, Potter," Snape replied bluntly, his gaze intense. "We must discuss the abuse…"

"I'm not abused…" Harry mumbled stubbornly. He'd always hated that word.

"Whatever you wish to call it, Potter," Snape replied, a touch of frustration creeping into his tone, "We must discuss it. We will discuss it."

"Why?" he muttered, the fight going out of him for a moment as desolation took its place. "What's left to discuss? You know."

Harry took a shaky breath as that fact finally hit his brain. His hands were shaking slightly and he took another deep sip of tea, hoping to steady himself against the onslaught of panic that was beginning to rise up in his chest. Oh God, Snape knew. He knew everything…

"I know some of it," Snape argued, his eyebrow raised as he looked over to Harry with concern. "I know that your Aunt slaps you and your Uncle sometimes hits you. But I do not know it all and I certainly do not understand as much as I need to. I am not going to let this drop until I am in a better position to help you, Potter. That means that you must talk to me."

"Why you?" Harry asked stubbornly, partly playing for time. He needed to pull himself together. "Why not…anyone else."

He knew the answer to that of course, but he just needed a moment to get himself together. At the moment, it felt like everything was crumbling down around him.

What would happen once the poisoner was caught and everything returned to normal? He and Snape had a strange sort of truce at the moment, but what would happen when Harry left the dungeons and returned to Gryffindor tower? Would Snape tell his snakes all about poor, weak Harry Potter? A saviour who can't even protect himself against a few muggles…

"Who else is there to discuss this with you?" Snape retorted. "As far as everyone else knows, you are currently eating lunch in the Great Hall."

"But…"

"Potter, this is not up for discussion," Snape interrupted irritably, although his brief ire did not really seemed to be aimed at Harry. "You will tell me what I want to know."

"Fine," Harry muttered. He didn't know what else to say. Snape knew everything anyway, and even though the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it, it didn't seem as if he had much choice. Snape had the power here, he always had.

"Good," Snape replied, although his troubled expression belied his words. The man seemed slightly surprised that Harry had agreed to talk so quickly, but in all honesty, Harry was just too tired to fight anymore. Too tired to care…

A tense silence came upon them then, and both of them seemed to be considering the conversation that was to come, Harry in particular. What would he say? Would he tell the truth? How would Snape react? The questions pounded at Harry's mind, forcing him into another panic. Harry took another sip of his tea to steady himself, but eventually the tenseness became too overwhelming.

Before he had wanted to postpone the inevitable. Now he just wanted to get it over with.

"So," began Harry uncertainly, clenching his fist slightly to stop it shaking. "What is it you want to know?"

Snape took a long moment to consider his words, but eventually he spoke, his eyes fixing on Harry with an intense gaze.

"Was the memory I saw a one-off example?" Snape began bluntly, although there was a faint trace of concern in his expression.

"No," Harry muttered. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, but he forced the panic away. It was hard though; he was telling Snape things that he had never told anybody…

"Common?"

Harry sighed heavily as he tried to steady himself. "Yes."

"For how long, Potter?"

"As long as I can remember," Harry replied, his gaze dropping to the table. He didn't want to see Snape's reaction. Shame filled him as he stared at the table; poor, weak Harry Potter. Can't even protect himself against some muggles. How can he be expected to save the Wizarding World when he can't even save himself…?

If Snape was shocked or moved by that last admission, however, he didn't show it. Harry chanced a brief glance at the Professor, only to see a brief flash of understanding cross his face. Apparently, in the last few minutes, Snape had come to his own conclusions.

"And it was always like that?" Snape asked, continuing the conversation.

"What do you mean?"

"Was it always at that level of violence?" Snape asked again. "Or did the treatment ever escalate?"

Harry closed his eyes, his thoughts whirring. Did he tell the truth, or did he lie?

At the moment, all Snape knew was that his Aunt had slapped him. He didn't know about Dudley's bullying, the chores he'd been forced to do, or the punishments he'd endured when a slap just hadn't seemed enough for the Dursleys.

"It got worse sometimes," Harry mumbled. He would tell the truth then. "Mainly before Hogwarts."

"Why?" Snape asked. "Why was it worse when you were younger?"

"Before I went to Hogwarts, I never had anyone to tell," Harry replied quietly. "Once I came here though...they were scared that once I made friends, I'd get them into trouble. It mostly stopped then."

"Mostly?"

Harry considered the question once again. How much did he tell Snape? The Professor had been fairly reasonable in the last few days, had even saved his life, but that didn't erase the last five years of horrible treatment. He just didn't trust Snape. He couldn't…

"Potter," Snape prompted. "You said that it mostly stopped once you came to Hogwarts. Do they still treat you like that?"

Harry shrugged slightly. "It's not that bad."

Apparently that was not the thing to say. Snape glared at him, but Harry glared back with equal force. He didn't have to talk and Snape couldn't make him.

"Potter, do not lie to me," Snape warned, and Harry forced himself to return the glare once again.

"I don't have to talk to you," Harry scowled. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"You are a fool, Potter," Snape snapped. "What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything."

"If the treatment is still going on, you need to tell me."

"No, I don't," Harry argued. He didn't care if he sounded childish. There was no way Snape could make him say anything else.

"You will risk your safety?" Snape asked, although the question seemed rhetorical. "You would risk your life to protect them?"

"I'm not protecting them," Harry muttered stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, you are," Snape argued.

"It's not that bad," Harry mumbled, his resolve wavering slightly. Why wouldn't Snape just drop it?

"Potter, it is – "

"Look, Snape," Harry interrupted. "Why can't you just leave it alone? Why do you care how my relatives treat me?"

"It is not right," Snape replied tightly. "I cannot sit back and allow it to continue. I will not. You will tell me what I need to know, Potter. I will not let this go."

Harry took a shaky breath as he considered Snape's words. The man seemed a little off, but Harry had just put that down to frustration and maybe tiredness. But now, Harry thought it might be more than that. Snape seemed genuinely shaken by the memory he had witnessed, and it felt as if something had changed in the man. Could he really care…?

"Potter - "

"What do you need to know?" Harry asked quietly. He knew, deep down, that he shouldn't risk it, that he couldn't trust Snape, but another part of him was still that scared little boy who had been hit for the first time and didn't understand why. He needed someone to know, he needed someone to care. He needed someone to understand, and it seemed at the moment, that Snape was willing to try.

"Let's try again then, shall we," Snape began with a small nod. "How do your relatives treat you now?"

"It's better now," Harry answered, avoiding the question slightly. "I mostly stay out of their way."

"Potter, how do they treat you when you do not stay out of their way?" Snape repeated tightly. It seemed that the man was using monumental effort to control his frustration, and it was that, more than anything that made Harry tell the truth.

"He just knocks me around a bit," Harry answered quietly. "It's not that bad…"

"You have scars, Potter," Snape replied.

"Accidents," Harry dismissed. "How do you know I have scars?"

"We were forced to examine you after you were taken ill," Snape replied. "I saw your chest."

"Well," Harry continued shakily. "Like I said, they were accidents."

"Accidents caused by your Uncle?" Snape asked shrewdly.

"Look, he's just a bit rough with me," Harry argued. "He didn't mean to – "

"Stop making excuses for that oaf, Potter," Snape snapped angrily, and Harry flinched slightly at the harsh tone.

"I'm not," Harry mumbled. "It wasn't that bad. It's not that bad."

Snape sighed, apparently trying to calm down. "He hits you."

"Yes."

"When you misbehave?"

Harry stilled slightly as he considered how to answer. In the end, Snape must have seen something in Harry's reaction because he answered for him.

"He's hits you whether you have done anything or not, doesn't he Potter?" Snape continued quietly.

"He doesn't like me, sir," Harry tried to explain. "He - "

"That is no excuse, Potter," Snape interrupted. He took a deep breath. "How else did they punish you?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, shakily running a hand through his hair.

"Did such instances always result in some form of violence, or were other punishments given as well?"

"They deprived me of things," Harry admitted quietly. "Toys, clothes, food."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Food?"

"You saw, sir," Harry continued. "In the memory. I didn't get any food that night."

"Was starvation a frequent occurrence then?"

"Yes," Harry muttered. Another flash of understanding crossed Snape's face and Harry got the impression that he had just confirmed another of Snape's suspicions.

"It is not right," Snape said suddenly, and to Harry's horror, he saw something akin to pity begin to form on the potions professor's face. "You know that, don't you Potter?"

Harry, took a deep breath, unsure of how to answer that question. On the one hand, he knew deep down that everything that had happened to him was wrong. On the other hand though, he wasn't that same boy who had lived in the cupboard anymore, too scared to even speak a word in case someone remembered he was there. He'd accepted his lot in life a long time ago. He wouldn't let Snape think he was weak.

"Look I'm fine there, Snape," Harry said quickly. "It's nothing I can't handle. Aunt Petunia never lets it go too far."

"Professor Snape, Potter," corrected Snape with a glare, and Harry released a shaky breath in relief. He didn't think he could handle it if Snape started to treat him differently, like he was on the point of breaking down. As much as he hated the barbed insults and the unfair treatment, at least he knew where he stood with the man. He was a constant in a life where hardly anything ever stayed the same.

"It's really not that bad – "

"Do not defend them, Potter," Snape interrupted wearily. "_Never _defend their cowardly actions."

"I'm not…"

"They were wrong," Snape continued. "What they did to you as a child was wrong."

"I know," Harry mumbled.

"What they're doing now," Snape continued quietly, "Is _wrong."_

"I know. I _know._ I don't like it but..." Harry replied, talking to the table once again. "I dunno, what choice do I have?"

"Do you not care for your wellbeing?" Snape demanded abruptly. "Do you not care for your life at all?"

"Of course I do!" Harry replied indignantly, head snapping up. "My Uncle isn't going to kill me!"

"I am Head of Slytherin, Potter," Snape said firmly. "I have seen many cases of abuse. Some were discovered too late to be saved."

"I'm not abused," Harry replied stubbornly. "And don't you dare tell anyone I am. I'm fine there."

"You cannot order me about, Potter," Snape snapped. "I am your Professor, and you will respect me."

Harry met the man's glare with equal intensity. He refused to back down. Snape might have been reasonable during this 'heart to heart' but Harry still didn't like the man and he certainly didn't respect him. The man had treated him like dirt for the last few years; Harry wasn't going to forget that anytime soon, no matter how much Snape was trying to help now.

"Why have you never told anybody?" Snape asked suddenly.

"I told you already," Harry replied with a scowl. "No one wants a broken hero."

"You are not a hero, Potter," Snape retorted, although his usual mocking tone was absent.

"I know that," Harry muttered. "They don't."

"Who is 'they'?"

"The Wizarding World," Harry replied quietly.

"Explain, Potter."

"They think I'm some sort of chosen one," Harry continued, eyes clouded over slightly as he stared ahead at nothing in particular. "Even now, with all this shit coming from Fudge and the Prophet, I still see people look to_ me _for answers. It's like they expect me to know what to do. It's like, because I defeated him as a baby, they think I have some sort of power."

"They are mindless fools, Potter," Snape interjected. "They will believe whatever they are told. Surely if this year has taught you anything, it has taught you that."

"Does it matter?" Harry asked, turning slightly. "From the moment I heard that magic was real, I knew what was expected of me."

"Explain, Potter," Snape repeated.

"They need a hero, a symbol," Harry answered quietly. "They need proof that everything is alright."

"It does not matter what they need, Potter."

"Of course it does," Harry countered. "I don't get to be normal. I don't get a normal life. It doesn't matter what _Harry_ wants, so long as _Harry Potter_, the hero, the boy-who-lived is fine."

"Potter…"

"I need to be strong," Harry continued. "They need to see that I'm strong. If they think, even for a second, that I can't be the hero they need, they'll panic."

"You are not that important, Potter."

"Of course _I'm _not," Harry replied wearily. "_Harry Potter _is."

Snape took a long moment to consider his words, but Harry didn't mind. He needed time to get his thoughts straight.

"That is why you kept the abuse secret?" Snape asked finally.

"No one wants a broken hero," Harry repeated.

"Are you broken, Potter?" Snape asked quietly, and Harry took a moment before he answered to consider the question properly.

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly, running a tired hand through his messy hair. "I just…I want to be what everyone thinks I am, even if I know I'm not."

"Explain," Snape stated for the third time.

"I want to be the hero, not the victim," Harry muttered.

"And you think that by disclosing that you are indeed a victim," Snape began, "You believe that the people around you will undoubtedly only see you as such?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You have friends, Potter, do you not?" Snape asked, his question once again rhetorical. "Do you trust them?"

"Yes," Harry replied, not sure where Snape was going with this.

"Then why do you think they would see you differently?"

"Because I would be different," Harry replied.

"No you would not," Snape argued. "You would be exactly the same. Pretending that you are not abused does not mean that the abuse suddenly disappears. It is still there."

"I don't…"

"I will only say this once, Potter, so listen carefully," Snape interrupted. "You are not weak. Far from it, if even half of the stories about your adventures are true. What's more, your friends, if they are truly your friends, will know that you are not weak. Being a victim of something that you could not control, that was not your fault, does not make you weak, Potter. If anything, the fact that you survived to become the person you have…it makes you stronger."

"The person I am?"

"Do not mistake me, Potter," Snape replied. "I still do not…like you. But, perhaps I see you more clearly now. There are people in this world who would die for you. There are people in this world who would follow you into battle, not because you are the boy-who-lived, but because they know the real you, they know your faults, and they are your friends regardless."

"But if they knew the truth…"

"Then you would still be the same," Snape interrupted. "And they would know it."

They were silent for a long time then. Harry drained the last of his tea, trying to calm his raging thoughts and still his shaking hands. So much had changed in the last hour; he needed time to come to terms with it all.

"What now?" he asked quietly after a few moments more.

"You will not go back there," Snape replied simply.

"But…"

"You will not go back there, Potter," Snape repeated. "You may think you can handle it, but I have seen the worst happen too many times. Once this poisoner is caught, we will have a discussion with your Head of House. She will take it from there. But no matter what happens, Potter, I will not allow you to return to those muggles."

Harry took a deep, shaky breath to steady himself. He had no idea how to deal with this. His whole life was about to change, and in truth, he was terrified. What would happen when everyone found out? What would they think of him…?"

"Calm down, Potter," Snape said quietly. "This is for the best. Surely you can see that."

Harry nodded absently, but his tired mind barely processed the question.

Snape looked at him with a flicker of concern. "It has been a long morning, Potter. I will have a house elf bring you some lunch, and then you should get some rest."

"What about Occlumency?" Harry asked quietly.

"I believe that our best option now is to try another method – "

"What?" Harry interrupted. "We can't stop – "

"Will you please listen, Potter," Snape snapped. "I did not say that we would stop. I said that we might find better results if we changed our method."

"What do you mean?"

"You are too emotional, Potter," Snape began bluntly. "Most who learn Occlumency manage to protect their mind by clearing it of emotion and thought. You do not have a hope of learning to clear your mind."

"I can…"

"You cannot, Potter," Snape correctly bluntly. "But it is of no matter. There are other ways, though they are often more complicated. Trust you to be difficult."

The insult was said with no malice, and Harry got the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be offended by it. Was _everything _going to be different now…?

"I will think on the matter," Snape continued. "Perhaps I can come up with a solution that will suit your chaotic mind."

"What should I do in the meantime then?"

"Eat, sleep, recover, Potter," Snape replied.

"And if I get bored," Harry asked, although he was quite sure that his raging thoughts would keep him occupied for a long time to come.

"I will send your assignments down with a house elf," Snape replied. "Your OWLs are coming up, I believe? If you wish, you can work on what you've been missing."

A thought hit Harry, working its way through his taxed mind. It was something he hadn't even considered until now.

"What happens if I'm still here when the exams start?" Harry asked. "Tonks can't take them for me. They'll have spells that check for the identity of the person taking the tests, won't they?"

"They do," Snape replied with a small nod. "It is something I am aware of, I assure you Potter. At the moment, even if the poisoner is still not caught, you will have to return to the general population in order to complete your OWLs. We do not have another option."

"I better get to work then," Harry said heavily.

"Get some sleep first, Potter," Snape replied. "You still need to recover or you will have no chance of taking your exams."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled. He didn't want to admit it to the man, but he was completely exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

"I will return to check on you after my lesson," Snape continued as he stood up, banishing the two mugs back to the kitchen.

With only the briefest glance back, the Professor swept from the room, leaving Harry alone once again. Harry didn't mind though. He needed time to understand what had just happened, and what would happen next. In the last hour, everything had changed, and yet in truth, nothing had. There was one question burning at Harry's mind more than any other though, and his breath hitched slightly as he dwelled on it.

Where did they go from here?

* * *

Later that evening, long after all the lessons had finished for the day, Tonks, still inhabiting the skinny form of Harry Potter, trudged slowly up the stairs to the fifth year boy's dormitory. The sun was only just beginning to set in the sky, and the common room was still full of lively students finishing last minute homework, and yet she had had quite enough for one day.

Honestly, she didn't know how the kid did it.

The stares and the pointing, the insults hurled at him from every side, that bitch Umbridge and her detentions. Even with all her experience and her Auror training behind her, Tonks was slowly becoming overwhelmed and stressed with having to deal with everything that was being thrown at her. And Harry had been dealing with it all for years? Her respect for the kid was rising day by day, but so was her worry. There was only so much one person could take, and she was already reaching her limit after only a few days in his shoes.

To make matters worse, she'd made absolutely no progress in her assignment to find the poisoner who was threatening Harry. Tonks had even been using Polyjuice Potion instead of her Metamorphmagus abilities so that she could focus all her energies on catching the poisoner, but still she had come no closer to solving the case. There were no clues, no suspects, not even a sign that the poisoner was still among them.

She was certain - thanks to a lot of coaching by Ron and Hermione - that no one knew she was Harry, but she wasn't sure how long she would be able to keep up the façade. Eventually the kid would be well enough to return to lessons, putting him right back in danger. Time was fast running out…

Eventually, she finally climbed into bed, with the curtains firmly drawn around her bed to stop anyone seeing her true form once the polyjuice inevitably wore off in the night. So far they had not had any close calls, thanks largely to Ron's interventions, but it was probably only a matter of time. She needed to catch this poisoner soon...

Tonks took a deep, steadying breath as she tried to quieten her thoughts long enough for sleep to claim her. She'd need a good night's sleep if she was going to make any progress in solving this case. And tomorrow looked set to be another long day.

Eventually, almost an hour later, she drifted off to the sounds of the others getting ready for bed, completely oblivious, however, to the beginnings of a twinge of pain in her lungs...

* * *

**A/N- **Oooh, the plot thickens. As you can see, the story is about to pick up pace, and I hope you're ready! For now, though, I really hoped you liked this chapter, and that Snape and Harry in particular were in character. The issue of the abuse isn't going to be dropped by any means, but they're all going to be a little distracted in the coming chapters. I hope you like where I've taken this story so far though. Your support has been incredible, so thanks for reading!


	15. The Return

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N** – First of all, let me apologise for the lateness of this chapter. There is no excuse, but I ask that you excuse me anyway. Secondly, I'd like to thank each and every person who continues to read and review this story. It makes the whole thing worthwhile, and as long as there is still someone out there still reading this, I promise you, I will keep writing it.

I hope you enjoy this newest chapter. It's an intense one, but since we're coming close to the big reveal (Just who is this poisoner and why do they want to kill Harry?), every chapter is going to be pretty intense from here on out! Enjoy!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Return**

* * *

"_No, Uncle…Please, not the cupboard."_

Harry tossed and turned, his mind trapped in his past.

_His Uncle grabbed him by the hair, ignoring his cries as he dragged him into the hallway. Seven year old Harry tried to fight the hand holding him but the grip stayed strong._

"_What did you do, boy?" boomed Uncle Vernon, his face turning purple with rage._

"_Nothing…I didn't do anything!" Harry cried, blinking back tears. It felt like his hair was being ripped out of his skull. "Let me go! It wasn't my fault! It just disappeared. Like magic – "_

_SMACK!_

_Harry's head jerked back, the force of the blow knocking the breath from his lungs. This time the tears fell, though he made no sound. His Uncle had always hated it when he made a sound…_

"_There's no such thing as magic –"_

"Potter, wake up."

"_No…" Harry struggled. He twisted, but he couldn't get free. Why couldn't he get free?_

"_Idiot boy!"_

_His Uncle's hand rose, ready to strike his nephew once more, an evil, contemptuous smile on his face._

"_Please Uncle…" _

It was no use though. There was nothing he could do. There was never anything he could do.

"Potter…"

"No."

Harry twisted again, but in the back of his mind, something didn't feel right. The voice. It was the voice. It hadn't been there that day. Who did the voice belong to?

"Potter!"

Harry jerked again, the slick voice filtering in through his consciousness, mixing reality with the nightmare, making them one. Where was he? Was he safe? Who did that voice belong to?

"Dammit, Potter…"

A hand grabbed his shoulder, and Harry flinched violently, his mind still stuck partly in the nightmare. His eyes snapped open as he jerked back from the hand, desperately trying to supress the panic that was rising in his chest. The overwhelming darkness in the room did little to calm him and he coughed slightly, his breathing heavy and uneven.

For a few seconds, he simply sat there, out of breath, sweating, and completely disorientated. The pain in his lungs, however, brought reality roaring back, waking him up more effectively than any alarm clock ever could.

Nightmare. It had been a nightmare.

"Potter…"

Finally the voice registered, and it was with a dawning sense of shame that Harry recognised the owner. He briefly considered just hiding under the covers and pretending to still be asleep but dismissed this idea almost immediately. Quite apart from being cowardly, it wouldn't have made any difference.

It didn't matter anymore. Snape knew.

"Sir?" Harry asked hoarsely. He blinked in the direction of the voice, unable to make out anyone in the darkness of the bedroom. It had to be his Professor though. Who else was there?

"Yes, Potter," Snape replied slowly, confirming Harry's thoughts, his voice tinged with concern. Without another word, the Professor passed Harry his glasses, and Harry took them with a shaky hand.

Harry blinked again as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, using the time to regain control after his nightmare. He didn't want to look weak in front of Snape, but after their conversation yesterday, the return of those memories had been inevitable. Harry shook himself jerkily and ran a shaky hand though his sweat drenched hair, desperate to regain some sort of composure and all but forcing the memories to the back of his mind.

It took a few moments, but eventually Harry's breathing evened out, though it brought him little comfort. Harry frowned as his brain finally caught up.

Why was Snape waking him up? What had happened?

"What…?"

"Get up," interrupted Snape. There was a faint trace of concern in the man's voice, but also something bordering on…was it panic? "Come on. Now."

The urgent tone of the professor's command effectively freed Harry's mind from the last of the fog of sleepiness and he shook himself again as he tried to get hold of himself.

Something was definitely going on, and for whatever reason, Snape was willing to keep him informed, involved. He couldn't ignore this. He had to know what was going on. Without looking up at the Professor, Harry pulled himself up on the bed, grimacing slightly as he swiped a hand across his sweaty face.

"What's happened?" he asked again, dread filling his stomach. The way Snape was acting was just confirming every terrible fear he'd had since he'd woken up. Oh, there was no way Snape was waking him up just to chat. Something was definitely wrong…

"Just get up and follow me," Snape replied shortly. "I will explain then."

Without another word, Snape turned around and stalking out of the door without another word, leaving Harry dumfounded and alone in the dark bedroom.

From the look on Snape's face alone, Harry knew that he would have to wait for answers to the questions that were pounding at his mind, but it seemed he was being offered, at least, the opportunity to get them, so Harry pulled himself up onto shaky feet and stumbled after Snape, following him into the living room.

To his surprise, Harry found that Snape was not alone; both Madame Pomfrey and Tonks - in her natural form, pink hair and all - were also there. Harry glanced at the clock over by the fireplace as the situation began to fully sink into his mind. It was only six o'clock in the morning. Why would they both be here so early?

"Mr Potter, good," said Madame Pomfrey briskly as she got up from the couch, though her serious expression did little to reassure Harry. What in Merlin's name was going on…?

"Wotcher, Harry," smiled Tonks, although the grimace that crossed her usually bright and cheerful face was enough to send tendrils on apprehension through Harry's spine. He turned to Snape.

"What's going on?" Harry repeated, planting his shaky feet as firmly as he could as he folded his arms across his chest, hopefully making it clear that he wasn't going to move until someone started giving him answers. The nightmare had rattled him, the conversation yesterday had terrified him, and he was in no mood for people to hide things from him anymore. He needed answers.

"Sit down, Harry," Madame Pomfrey said gently. Harry kept his eyes fixed firmly on Professor Snape.

"Sir?" Harry asked stubbornly, his gaze fixed on Snape.

Snape glared at him. "Do as you are told, Potter."

"I'm fine," Harry replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You do not feel ill?" Snape asked intensely.

Well that was an odd question. Harry was slightly taken aback by the sudden concern in Snape's face, and the dread in his stomach deepened.

"Erm…no worse than yesterday," Harry answered slowly, slight nerves making their way through to his brain. Something was definitely wrong. Why would they be asking how he felt?

Unless…

Harry's gaze shot round to look at Tonks. His focus was intense, fear burning at his insides. "Have you been poisoned?"

"Potter…" Snape began.

"Just, someone please answer the bloody question!", Harry snapped, frustration bursting out of him, hampered by his already frayed nerves and exaggerated by the fear that was rising in his chest.

Harry regretted snapping almost immediately, but the nightmare was still in the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to get rid of it, and anyway, Harry _knew_ he was right and all he could think was that it was all his fault. Tonks had been poisoned because of him…

"Language Potter," Snape snapped with a glare. "Calm down, you idiot boy."

Snape gave him a significant look, and Harry, even though his fear and anger, immediately understood. If he didn't calm down, it would make it easier for Voldemort to find a way into his mind. Harry took a deep breath, but it was no use; the anger and guilt still burned at his insides and it was all Harry could do to stay on his feet.

"Was she poisoned?" he asked again, this time making sure his voice was even at least. Snape raised an eyebrow but seemed to decide to drop the matter for now.

"Yes," Snape replied tightly, turning to look at Tonks on the couch. "It appears that Miss Tonks has been into contact with the poison but…"

"I knew this would happen," Harry muttered angrily, although who he was angry at wasn't clear even to himself. He sent an accusing glare towards Snape. "I told you. It was too dangerous."

"I'm fine, Harry," interjected Tonks, and Harry had to admit, she did _seem _fine. "Madame Pomfrey here fixed me up, right as rain."

Harry ignored her, his gaze still fixed firmly on Snape. "You have to send me back."

The man's face had been unreadable up until that point, but Harry's words seemed to have sparked an anger in him that should have sent warning signs to Harry had he been in any mood to notice them.

"Don't be an idiot, Potter."

"I'm not," Harry shot back. "It's too dangerous."

"What about you?" Snape asked back in frustration. "What about your health? What if you are poisoned again?"

Harry shook his head jerkily. "Better me than anyone else."

"You foolish boy!" Snape took a deep breath, apparently trying to control himself. He looked back to Harry and seemed to decide something. "Okay, come with me."

That surprised Harry. "What?"

"Come with me," Snape repeated dangerously. "You and I are going to have a discussion. In private."

Without another word, Snape swept through to the kitchen. Harry glanced over to Madame Pomfrey and Tonks, but from the looks on their faces, especially the Matron's, he quickly realised that he wouldn't get any support from either of them. Tonks looked sympathetic, but Madame Pomfrey was sending him a murderous glare that almost rivalled Snape's.

"Mr Potter," she said, and although she seemed angry at him, there was a faint trace of concern there too. "I believe you should do as you are told."

She gave a pointed look to the closed kitchen door, and Harry sighed.

"Fine," he muttered.

As he walked slowly towards to door, Harry could still fear the anger coursing through his veins. He didn't even know who he was angry at anymore; Snape, Umbridge, Voldemort, the poisoner, or himself. It was all consuming, leaving him breathless and weak and yet furious and strong, all at the same time. He'd always been fairly good at controlling his emotions, but now he had never felt more out of control. Oh, some of his friends would say that he had a temper, that he lost control occasionally, but honestly, with his life, who wouldn't be angry? He'd like to see someone live even a day in his shoes and _not _get angry. This...this was different.

Although, he told himself, anger was better than fear any day of the week…

With this at the forefront of his mind, Harry marched into the kitchen, and though Snape glared at him, Harry just glared back with equal force. No matter how fair the man had been in the last few days, he was wrong about this. Harry had every right to be angry.

"Close the door behind you."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered sarcastically, but he did as he was told.

"Sit."

Harry sat at the kitchen table as directed, but kept his gaze firmly down. He hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't a little kid and Snape had no right treating him like one. This was his life, his battle, and he was old enough to deal with it his way.

"What in Merlin's name are you thinking, you imbecile?" Snape snapped suddenly, knocking Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry jerked his head up. "What?"

"I thought, after our discussion yesterday, that I had dispelled some of your more misguided beliefs," Snape looked at Harry, his anger clear. "Apparently, I was mistaken."

"I don't understand."

"You are still acting under the misapprehension that your life is worth nothing!"

"I'm…what?"

"Very articulate," Snape sneered, and Harry felt his cheeks flame slightly.

"Look, where do you get off telling me what to do?" Harry shot back angrily.

"I am your Professor," Snape retorted angrily. "When a student is displaying such obviously suicidal tendencies, I _will _do something about it."

"I'm not suicidal!" Harry argued.

"Self-sacrificing is just as bad, you fool!" Snape took a deep, steadying breath, apparently in an effort to calm himself down.

Apparently it worked because his next words were even and in control.

"This self-sacrificing streak of yours is going to stop now," Snape said seriously. Harry dropped his gaze to the table, doing his best to contain his temper.

Snape didn't understand. No one ever understood.

And Harry had finally had enough of it.

He wanted to have it out with Snape. He needed to. Because he was angry, and frustrated and tired and scared. Scared that his life was no longer his, that it was unravelling before his eyes and beyond his control. After the Voldemort, Umbridge, the poisoning and now Snape and his fixation on how awful his childhood had been, Harry had had enough.

He clenched his fists so tightly that they turned white. For once, Harry wanted to be in control. He wanted to be the one making decisions about _his _life. And there was nothing Snape could do about it. If he tried to lock him in the bedroom, Harry would find a way to escape. If he tried to send Harry away from Hogwarts, Harry would go through hell to find his way back. There was no way he was going to let anyone else risk their lives for him anymore. It was going to be between him and the poisoner from now on and there wasn't a bloody thing Snape could say to change his mind.

"I'm going back to lessons," Harry said quietly, anger dancing in his eyes, barely supressed. "I'm not going to hide anymore."

"You stupid boy –"

"Don't call me stupid!" Harry yelled. "You have no idea how it feels to be me. To have all those people out to get you – "

"Because I am so well-loved, Potter?" Snape interjected.

"That…it's not the same."

And it wasn't, Harry thought angrily. Snape went out of his way to make people miserable. He bullied innocent children and made them hate the subject he was supposed to teach. It was no wonder people didn't love him! What else did he expect?

"Is it really not the same, Potter?" Snape asked. "Do I ask to be hated? Do I ask to be treated like a criminal? You have seen the way Moody looks at me. Like I am a Death Eater."

"You were a Death Eater," Harry pointed out angrily.

"Am I one now?" Snape asked, his expression challenging.

That stopped Harry short, though he felt angry enough to reply anyway. "Maybe. I don't know."

"No, you do not," Snape said with a nod, as if his point had been made with Harry's reaction. "And yet, you still judge me to be one. I can see it in your eyes, Potter. You do not trust me. I have saved your life on numerous occasions and yet you still do not trust me."

"What reason have you given me to trust you!?" Harry snapped. "You bullied me, you always have!"

"I saved your life."

"So?" Harry spat. "Is that supposed to mean something? Does is make you feel better? You bullied a little kid. How do you even manage to sleep at night - ?"

"Enough!" Snape snapped, his eyes flashing with anger and a trace of something that Harry couldn't quite identify. "That is enough. You will do as I say."

"Make me," Harry muttered petulantly.

"You are too old to be acting like a spoilt brat, Potter," Snape replied dangerously. "Grow up and realise that some things just aren't fair. _Life_ isn't fair. There are things in this world that are not right or just or good. Some things will just happen and there is nothing you, or anyone else, can do about it."

"I…you're wrong," Harry replied angrily, fists clenched under the table. "This…I can do something about this!"

"No you cannot," Snape replied. "It would kill you, Potter. What would your parents say if they saw you wasting your life like this? They died for you –"

"I know!"

"Yesterday, when we discussed your relatives…" Snape continued, "You told me that no one wants a broken hero. Well, what use do you believe a dead one would be?"

"I…look, that's not –"

"That is exactly what would happen," Snape replied quietly. His anger was still there, Harry could see, but it seemed as if the Professor had made a concentrated effort to supress it. "You need to understand what I am telling you, Potter. This is not _your_ battle. This is not _your_ fight. By going out there, on your own, you are making yourself into a martyr. The trouble with martyrs, however, is that once they are dead, they are dead. Martyrs are useless to the people still on this earth, the same people who would have to fight the Dark Lord without a saviour, if you were to die. If you want to be a hero, Potter, then you need to stay alive."

"I don't want – "

"Oh, I know you don't want to be the hero everyone expects from you," Snape replied quietly. "I know that now, at least. But there are different types of heroes, Potter. Of course there are those who claim the spotlight, who dwell in the public eyes and hearts, and who save the people for queen and country. But there are also those who dwell in the shadows, who do what is needed no matter what, who save the world without the world ever knowing it needed saving in the first place. Those people are heroes too, even if no one is there to worship them. And I assure you, Potter, they are no less important because of that."

Snape took a deep breath and met Harry's eyes.

"Sometimes being a hero means _not _fighting. Sometimes, Potter, _not _fighting is the bravest thing a person can do. It is much harder, in my experience, to sit by and watch another fight, than it is to fight oneself. But, I assure you Potter, it does not make you weak, and it is no less important."

Snape gave him a long hard look, his dark eyes boring into Harry's with an intensity that made Harry want to listen to him and run from him, all at the same time.

"You will have your battle," Snape continued seriously. "One day, the time will come when you will have to fight, whether you like it or not. But it is not this day."

Harry swallowed hard, Snape's words boring through his anger, destroying it almost as if it was never there.

"What should I do?" he asked quietly.

"Trust us," Snape replied. "Trust that we will catch this poisoner. I will not let anyone die, Potter. I give you my word."

Harry looked at Snape, met his eyes, and in that moment, despite their differences, despite the anger and distrust and fear he still felt for the man, Harry knew that Snape would do anything to keep his word.

"Can I trust you, sir?" Harry asked finally. "When the time comes, can I trust you?"

Snape looked down for a moment as he considered the question. When his eyes finally rose, it was with an intensity that Harry had only seen rivalled in Dumbledore's steely eyes.

Snape met his gaze evenly. "Always."

* * *

**A/N** – Phew, well that was a bit intense, wasn't it? I didn't exactly plan that conversation to go that way, but I'm afraid that was the way Harry and Snape took me. If you didn't like it, blame them. Please let me know if you did like it though; it would really make my day!

On a separate but related note, now is the time to place your bets and give me your guesses as to the big question…who is the poisoner? It's almost time for the big reveal and I want to know how many of you have guessed right. From the reviews I've had so far, I'm fairly sure no one has got it, and I'm really curious to see if, after this chapter, anyone has any ideas.

I assure you, all shall be revealed very, very soon, but until then, thanks for reading!


	16. The Plot

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.**

**A/N** – Another chapter is finally here! I'm not going to say much, because I know you're all dying to know about the poisoner. All I'll say is that you finally get some answers in this chapter. Thanks for all the support, and I really hope you like it! Enjoy!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Plot**

* * *

Snape studied the boy in front of him with careful, calculating eyes, taking in every nuance of emotion that the boy was struggling to hide. Pain, panic, stress, anger, fear…

The Professor sighed as he ran a slender hand through his greasy hair. They didn't have time for this. Potter seemed to be grasping his words, but Snape could still see a grain of defiance in the boy. Potter needed to understand…

"Potter, I realise that you are…frustrated," began Snape, his eyes serious as his gaze met the boy's. "I acknowledge that this is difficult, but this cannot continue, do you understand?"

"I…yeah, I get it."

"I don't think you do, Potter."

"Look, what do you want me to say?" Potter asked quietly, head bowed. "I'm sorry I got angry, okay?"

"No, it is not okay," retorted Snape, allowing frustration to seep back into his voice. "I am trying to help you, Potter, but you need to start letting me."

This was more than simple fear or panic or anger, Snape realised, and for the first time, he truly doubted whether he was the best person to help the boy. This was grief and blame and guilt all wrapped into one huge ball of emotion, and if Potter didn't start dealing with it soon, it would consume him.

"I am letting – "

"No, you are not," argued Snape, trying to make the boy see. "You are fighting me, Potter, every step of the way, even now, when I have proven myself time and time again. You ask if you can trust me, and yet ignore all the signs that are telling you that you can – "

"Look, it's not easy to forget, alright," Potter snapped. "You bullied me."

"And I regret that," Snape admitted angrily. "But the past is the past, and the longer you spend dwelling on it, the longer this obstinate behaviour of yours will continue. I will not allow it. You need to grow up, Potter."

"I am grown up," Harry argued. "I'm definitely not a kid anymore."

"And yet you insist upon acting like one," Snape shot back. "You need to deal with this, Potter. You cannot keep ignoring everything and hope it just goes away."

"I just...I don't get why you don't understand my side of it," Harry argued.

"I do, Potter," Snape replied, his voice lowering. "But that does not mean that I have to agree with you."

"You don't understand anything – "

"I understand that you feel guilty," Snape interjected quietly. "I understand that you are blaming yourself for Miss Tonk's condition this morning."

"If it wasn't for me –"

"Then the Dark Lord would not have been defeated fourteen years ago," finished Snape. "Do you give yourself credit for that as well?"

"No," Potter replied stubbornly, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "I was only a baby when that happened."

"And yet you claim control over a mystery poisoner who has still evaded capture even though there is a highly trained Auror in place whose sole purpose is to discover them."

Potter frowned. "That's different."

"How?" Snape challenged. The boy's lips remained firmly sealed, and in that moment, Snape had his answer. "You allow yourself far too much blame, Potter."

Snape sighed as he observed the boy in front of him. Potter shoulders were back, his chin up. He was defiant, readying himself for a fight.

Well, Snape would not give him one. Not now at least. Oh, it was clear that Potter was not dealing with everything. No matter how much Potter said that he understood, Snape had a feeling that the lesson would take a lot longer to finally sink in, if it ever did at all.

Snape sighed heavily once more, but made his decision. "We should return to the other room. Madame Pomfrey will be worried that I've killed you."

A brief flicker of a smile crossed the boy's face, but it quickly turned into a frown.

"I should apologise to her," the boy stated quietly.

"Yes, you should," Snape replied shortly. "But first, we have an urgent matter to attend to. I woke you up because I thought you mature enough to contribute to the discussion. Do not prove me wrong."

Potter looked faintly surprised by his admission, but seemed to gather himself. "I…I won't."

"Good," Snape said shortly before sweeping out of the room, and leaving Potter behind him, looking bewildered, annoyed but also determined. Maybe he'd gotten through to the boy after all.

* * *

Harry walked back into the living room with his head hung low. Now that his anger had mostly dissipated, he felt nothing but despair and shame. And tiredness, of course. In fact, he'd like nothing more than to crawl back into bed and not wake up for the next hundred years or so…

"Potter, sit."

Snape gestured to the couch and Harry only for paused a moment before following the order.

"How are you feeling, Mr Potter?" Madame Pomfrey asked sternly. Her tone of voice showed that she was still annoyed with Harry, but concern was clearly overriding everything else.

"Fine, Ma'am," Harry replied quietly. "Sorry…you know, about before…"

"That's quite alright, Harry," she replied, her expression softening. Tonks gave him an encouraging look, and Harry felt his confidence come back to him slightly. "Just stay strong for us, okay. Get better, we'll have this figured out in no time."

Snape cleared his throat and Harry turned to face him. "Miss Tonks – "

"For the last time, it's just Tonks."

"Okay, _Tonks,_" Snape replied, and Harry noticed a trace of annoyance in his eyes. "Please can you go through what happened once more. From the beginning, if you will."

"I told you," Tonks replied with a frown. "Nothing happened. When I went to bed I felt fine, when I woke up I felt like a cat was trying to crawl its way out of my lungs."

"You are sure you didn't feel anything?" Snape pressed, and both Harry and Madame Pomfrey looked on with intensity.

"Nothing," Tonks confirmed. "It's…I was tired that night. Exhausted really." She looked towards Harry with sadness in her eyes. "I don't know how you do it, kiddo. I really don't."

Harry shrugged slightly, but he was eager to steer the conversation away from his own life. He was sick of feeling sorry for himself.

"So you weren't sick when you went to sleep," he began, his mind working furiously. "But when you woke up, you were. It's exactly the same as it was with me."

Madame Pomfrey and Snape shared a look of understanding.

"The dormitory?"

"It must be," Snape replied gravely, but Harry was confused.

"I...I don't understand."

"The poison is fast acting, Harry," Madame Pomfrey explained, pausing to gather her thoughts. "There is simply no way that she could have been poisoned during the day without knowing it. There would have been symptoms. With this new evidence, there is only one conclusion that can be drawn. It must have been administered at night."

Dread filled Harry's stomach, along with a dawning realisation.

"Mr Potter – "

"No," Harry interrupted quickly, eyes darting to meet each of them. "They wouldn't do this. They're my friends, they wouldn't try to kill me."

He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Ron, Neville, Dean, even Seamus…they wouldn't hurt him. They just wouldn't. There had to be some other explanation...

"No one else has access to that room, Potter," Snape argued. "Not without anyone else knowing about it at least, and certainly not at night."

"People have snuck into the dormitory before," Harry retorted. "Sirius managed it in my third year."

"And security was tightened as a result," Snape replied tightly. "I assure you, Potter, no one can get into that room who is not supposed to be there."

"There has to be some other explanation," Harry replied desperately, looking at each of them in turn. The seriousness of their expressions did nothing to reassure him.

"We have to check, Harry," Tonks reasoned gently. "They might not be doing it of their own free will. Someone might be _making _them do it."

Still Harry didn't believe them, although this time he kept his mouth shut. It seemed as if they'd made up their minds, and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. They were wrong though - his friends wouldn't try to kill him. He couldn't explain how he knew, he just _knew _it...

"Potter," Snape said, apparently having read his thoughts on his face. "There is every chance that your friends had nothing to do with this, but this is our only lead and we must follow it. There is no other option."

Harry finally nodded, sighing heavily as he gave in. At the very least, he reasoned, it would rule them out as suspects. "Fine."

"Good," Madame Pomfrey said. "Well, now that's sorted, I need to head back to the Hospital Wing before someone notices my absence."

"Yeah, I need to get back as well," Tonks said as she stood up.

"You're going already?" Harry asked, slightly disappointed. He liked the woman's company, but it was more than that...it was as if whilst she was here, even if it was for only the briefest of visits, she gave him a sense of normality that he had desperately missed of late. It was as if she was his only connection to real life...

"I have to get ready for lessons, Harry," Tonks said apologetically, and it was clear that she wasn't happy about it. "I'll come and visit soon, okay?"

"Okay," Harry replied, trying to fix a smile on his face. He wasn't sure how convincing it actually was, but it seemed to do the trick. Tonks released a relieved breath and nodded with her own smile.

"Okay," she said as she turned to follow Madame Pomfrey out of Snape's quarters. "See you soon."

"Bye," Harry muttered, as she shut the door behind her, leaving him alone with Snape once again.

* * *

Snape frowned as the two woman left, but he immediately altered his face to one of determination as Potter turned to face him.

"I think I'll just go back to bed – "

"Sit," Snape interrupted, pointed to the couch.

"But – "

"Sit," Snape repeated, sitting in a chair to the side of the couch. Potter sighed but seemed to choose not to fight it this time.

"You thought that our discussion was over?" Snape asked, trying to gage Potter's frame of mind.

The question seemed to surprise the boy. No doubt his mind had still been running wildly over all the evidence they'd just discovered. Snape needed him to understand this though, needed him to finally accept the help that he had turned away from for far too long. The anger, the fear…it was not coming from nowhere, even taking the Dark Lord's presence in the boy's mind into account. Potter was not in control, and it was clear that the time had long passed when he should have received help for it.

PTSD. It was something muggles talked often about, but Snape knew enough about it to recognise the symptoms in Potter. The boy had gone through something truly traumatic last year, and it was clear that he had not dealt with it, or even acknowledged it. No, it seemed to Snape as if Potter had simply pushed it to the back of his mind and ignored it.

If the last few hours told Snape anything, it was that the boy was currently standing on the edge. One more nudge and there was no doubt in Snape's mind that the boy would fall. Hard.

Poisoner or not, there was no way he could allow that to happen, not when it was in his power to stop it.

"What?"

"Our discussion this morning, Potter," Snape repeated. "Did you truly think that it was over?"

"Yeah…I mean, yes," the boy replied uncertainly. "What else is there to say?"

"It still has not sunk in, has it Potter?" Snape answered with a frown. "You say that you understand, but even now I can see you pushing it all away."

"Look, what are you talking about?" Potter asked. It was clear that he was tired, but Snape knew that this was not something that could be put off any longer. Like the abuse, they would deal with it…

"You must face it all, Potter."

"Face what?"

"Your issues," Snape replied. "Everything that is bothering you, everything that you are currently pushing to the back of your mind. You must face it. You must _deal _with it now. The time has long since passed for this to be ignored. Talk to me, Potter."

"That…look, it doesn't make any sense," Potter replied stubbornly. "I don't see why talking about it makes anything any better. You said I shouldn't dwell on the past."

Snape took a deep breath. "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, Potter. Have you heard of that saying? Have you ever thought about what it truly meant?

Silently Potter shook his head, and Snape took that as his cue to continue.

"It means that you must find strength in weakness, Potter," he said quietly. "You must find the positives in any negative you encounter, you must learn from your mistakes and experiences, no matter how bad they are. You _must _deal with it, because if you do not, it will fester and rot and burn you from the inside, destroying every little thing that defines the person that you are, and the person that you wish to be. If you do not conquer it, Potter, it _becomes _you. You must defeat it, and to do that, you must first acknowledge how much it hurt, and how much it changed you. To go through something like you did last year, to suffer under your relatives' cruelty…it _is __all _horrific, there is no denying that. But it is a part of you, and you _survived _it. And it is vital that you accept that because only then can you find a way to change yourself into the person _you want_ to be. Take control of your life, Potter. Take control of your past."

Potter took a dead, shaky breath, the air rattling in his lungs. "How…how do you know it would help?"

"Because it is the opposite of what I did, Potter," Snape replied quietly, his serious black eyes meeting Potter's evenly. "You are not the only one who is haunted, Potter. Only I have allowed my ghosts to rule my life. And look at what I have become. A lonely, bitter man who is trusted by neither side and yet ruled by both. You anger is slowly taking over, Potter. Do not become me, Potter. It is the last thing anyone should want to be."

"How...I don't understand." Scared, green eyes bored into Snape's. "How do I do it? How do I deal with it?"

"Talk to me," Snape replied with a heavy sigh. "Verbalising the issues make them more real. It brings them out into the open, and only then, Potter, can we begin to deal with them."

"But why do I need to tell you?" Potter replied hoarsely, apparently overwhelmed. "Can't I just…you know, deal with it myself?"

"Would you be able to? You haven't dealt with them so far, Potter." Snape took a deep breath, making sure that Potter was well and truly listening before he said his next words. "It is not about letting someone in, Potter. It is about letting everything else out."

Snape sighed and ran a hand through his hair as Potter remained silent. There was something still holding the boy back, and Snape had an idea what it was...

"I will not judge you, Potter," he continued seriously. "Nothing you say will make me think any differently of you, nor will it make me change my treatment of you. I will not pity you, Potter. Perhaps instead, I may even understand. What have you got to lose?"

Potter's eyes screamed 'everything', but the boy said nothing. Instead his eyes took on a sheen of power that Snape had only witnessed in Dumbledore on a few rare occasions. Determination, fear…

Strength.

Potter met his gaze. "I'll do it."

* * *

Harry sighed as he lay back on the bed, alone once again. His thoughts were all over the place, burning at his mind and threatening to overload him, but one thing was clear to him, one thing stuck out - he would have to talk about everything. As Snape had said, he would have to _face _it all.

Could he do it?

He'd been running from it for so long now, buying it all deep inside, that he wasn't sure he could even think about it, let along talk about it. The Graveyard…Cedric…his relatives…there was still so much there lying in the dark recesses of his mind, so many things threatening to take over. He was scared that if he let one of them out, all of them would escape. They would bury him...

Snape had been adamant though. Harry had time to think about it now, Snape had given him that much, but it was clear that this wasn't so much a request as it was a demand.

Harry sighed once again, shakily pulling in air and releasing it slowly. He needed help, he could accept that now. This anger…it felt like it was bursting out of him beyond his control, and he knew that it wasn't the real him. He wanted to feel normal again, and honestly, if talking to Snape would help with that, even in a small way, Harry was willing to give it a try…

"Mr Harry Potter, Sir!"

The squeak interrupted his thoughts and Harry immediately knew who it was. A blur flittered across his vision before settling in front of him.

"Dobby."

"Mr Harry Potter is sick," Dobby continued, offering him a toothy grin that Harry guessed was supposed to be comforting. "But Dobby is here to look after his master now."

"Snape called for you?" Harry asked, completely confused.

"The Professor is knowing we are friends, Sir!" Dobby replied excitedly. "He is asking that Dobby look after Master Harry Potter – "

"But I'm fine, Dobby," Harry sighed. Truthfully, he just wanted a bit of time to get his head straight. Snape was in a lesson now, and Harry had been looking forward to the time alone.

"Professor Snape said not to believe Harry Potter because you is being sick, sir," Dobby said apologetically. He puffed out his chest. "Dobby is to look after Master Harry Potter."

"I don't need a nursemaid, Dobby," Harry argued, trying to reason with the small elf. "You're not a slave to me, and anyway, I can take care of myself. I don't need someone to tuck me in at night, or make my bed when I get up. I can do that…"

His voice trailed off as his thoughts took hold. He didn't breathe, couldn't think past the one realisation that was pounding at his mind.

Bed. House elves. Could it be…?

Harry's mind worked furiously, but his thoughts only confirmed his realisation. His bed was always made for him when he went to sleep at night. He'd never really thought about it until now, but clearly the house elves who cleaned the common room came into the dorm to clean it as well. It was obvious, now that he thought about it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Snape was wrong. He, Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus were not the only ones who had complete, unheeded access to dormitory. House elves could come and go as they pleased. In fact, they were even encouraged to do so without leaving behind even a trace of their existence.

It was all fitting into place in Harry's mind...

What if it wasn't a person who had poisoned him? What if it was a House elf?

* * *

**A/N –** Dun Dun, Dunnnn…The plot thickens! So what did you all think? Snape and Harry still in character? What about Dobby? House Elves are ridiculously hard to write, so I'm not confident I've completely got him right. I needed to include him though, because Harry really needed to have that epiphany, and I felt like he needed a bit of a nudge in the right direction.

How do people feel about the revelation at the end by the way? Some of you guessed that a house elf was involved, so I hope that it is a believable scenario, but I must say, I'm still nervous about the reveal. Please let me know, but for now, thanks for reading!


	17. The Game

**********Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**A/N - **Well hello once again! Sorry for the unforgivable delay for this chapter, but life has been unbelievably busy to say the least. I may have a degree under my belt but it isn't helping much in my hunt for a job. Not only is it pretty stressful but it is incredibly time consuming. That said, this chapter _is_ now ready for you all to read, and it is quite easily the longest one yet.

Before you start to read it, however, I'd just like to thank you all for all the support you've given me, even during this brief absence. Not only did I cross over 100,000 hits on this story since the last update (a fact that is frankly astonishing to me), but I also received over 50 reviews from the last chapter alone! To top it off, the reviews I've gotten since I began this story have not only been kind, but also incredibly useful and your advice is continuing to shape this story into something I am very proud of. As for this newest chapter, it's not my best work, but I hope very much that you enjoy it!

* * *

**~Strength in Weakness~**

**The Game**

* * *

Over the years, Harry had found himself in a lot of very strange situations, things he would never have been able to predict in a million years. The situation he found himself in not long after breakfast the next morning, however, had to be the strangest one yet.

Sat at the kitchen table, Harry watched as Snape began to set up a chess board, placing the pieces down with a precision that caused Harry's throat to tighten in apprehension and disbelief.

Chess. He and Snape were about to play bloody chess.

Harry had always known that there was something odd about him, something that made him different from the other children he had grown up with at primary school. That sense of oddness had never really gone away, even when he'd been confronted with all manner of strange things in his time at Hogwarts. Weird things just seemed to happen to him, and the stranger the situation, the more likely he was to be involved somehow in it. But even taking into account every odd incident in his childhood, every strange situation he had managed to find himself in in the last few years, there was no doubt about it...this was _definitely _the weirdest moment of Harry's life so far.

Chess. With Snape.

Harry watched nervously as Snape rubbed slightly at his chin, deep in thought and staring at the chess board in front of him with a seriousness that scared Harry slightly. When Snape had first asked if Harry wanted to play a game of chess with him that Saturday morning, Harry had struggled to take him seriously. Even though he had known all along that Snape would not need to teach any classes at the weekend, Harry had fully expected and planned to spend the day alone once again. For Snape to actually _choose_ to spend time with him...well, Harry had immediately come to the conclusion that his already exhausted mind must have finally cracked under all the recent stress. No, there was no way that Snape would ever want to play chess with him…

"Your move, Potter," Snape prompted, a slight glare on his face as he pulled Harry back to the present.

Snape, it turned out, had been deadly serious about the game, and Harry had found himself unable – despite his absolute fear of playing the man – to refuse the offer. Somehow Harry had gotten the distinct feeling that he would never have been given the chance to say no. Still, boredom was one thing, but actively pitting himself in a battle of wits against Snape of all people…

Maybe he was mad after all.

"Potter," growled Snape impatiently. The Potion's Master had been crabby all yesterday afternoon and he seemed to have carried his bad mood into this morning as well. Harry suspected it had something to do with the lack of progress in finding any more leads on the poisoner, even despite discovering the link to the dormitory, but Harry quickly shoved that thought away. After all, he had a pretty good idea why there had been no progress with that…

"I'm thinking," Harry muttered turning his mind towards the game. Why in Merlin's name had he agreed to this? He was nowhere near his best, and although Snape had been fairly decent to him in the last couple of days, apparently the man's goodwill had run out for the moment. The scowl that had taken permanent residence on the man's face made it difficult for Harry to believe that Snape was playing this game with him for fun. So why had he offered…?

"I can see that," Snape sneered, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "But if you could keep your thoughts restricted to your next move, perhaps we can actually finish the game before tonight."

Harry flushed slightly, but he didn't reply. In truth, Harry was having a hard time keeping focused at all, and for once it had nothing to do with Voldemort, his relatives or even Umbridge. No, this time it was his own bloody conscience that was troubling him.

Because he still hadn't told Snape about his theory on his poisoner. And he still didn't completely understand why.

Trying to at least give the impression that he was still considering his next move, Harry attempted to deal with that thought as it ran circles through his tired mind, a thought that had been bothering him since the morning before. Guilt, anger, confusion all swirled around until he was left with no clear idea about what to do about _anything, _let alone what he should do about his problem.

Did he tell Snape about his suspicions about the House-Elves or not?

And would Snape even believe him if he did?

Harry _wanted _to believe that he could trust the man, that Snape would automatically accept everything he was saying and help him to do something about it. Even taking into account Snape's past treatment of him, Harry _want__ed _to believe that something between them had changed; that he had an ally in the man, rather than another enemy to add to the ever growing list.

He just...couldn't.

Harry ran a shaky hand through his messy dark hair. Snape shot him a concerned look and Harry quickly chose a piece at random to move, hoping to shake off suspicion. Luckily, it seemed that his move wasn't completely terrible and Snape seemed satisfied with it, choosing to take a long moment to consider his own move.

Harry took the respite gladly, hoping to pull himself together before Snape started to notice something was wrong.

God, the guilt was killing him.

He knew he should tell Snape, that the only logical solution in his situation was to ask for help from a person who had made it clear that they were willing to offer it. Clearly, with the effects of the poisoning still holding him back, Harry knew he was in no shape to deal with this new information himself, especially without Ron and Hermione to help him.

He needed an answer, someone to help him or guide him, but...well, he had no-one here – no-one but the bitter Potion's Master who had been horrible to him for years but who had also saved his life.

Harry glanced surreptitiously at Snape, who was still considering his next move. The man was made up of contradictions. Nothing with Snape was ever simple. He was dark, very dark, but there was something else there as well, something that Harry hadn't even detected until he had been locked inside these rooms with the man. He had done terrible things; Harry knew that no one joined the Death Eaters because they wanted to help people, but at the same time, Harry couldn't deny that the man _had _saved his life.

_His _life. Snape had protected the bane of his existence, the boy he had apparently hated from the moment he had set eyes on him. It didn't make sense to Harry, but then very little did.

Snape had asked Harry to trust him, but how could he trust someone that he couldn't understand?

Snape coughed slightly to indicate that it was Harry's move again. So far Snape had said very little during the game, and his silence had only made Harry continue to wonder why he would want to play chess with him at all. Did he know that Harry was hiding something?

Maybe _Snape _had gone mad too.

Not that Harry was complaining about the silence. Silence meant no uncomfortable questions - questions that he would invariably want to avoid - and it also allowed him to try to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. Even though he'd had his epiphany about the House-Elves yesterday, Harry still had no clearer idea of what to do about it.

After everything that had happened in the last couple of days, Harry knew it was stupid to keep this information to himself, but no matter how much his mind told him that he should tell Snape what he had guessed, a part of him – a part large enough to given him pause – felt that going to Snape with his suspicions would go against every experience he had ever had, be it in Hogwarts or back at the Dursleys'.

The truth was, a part of Harry still felt the need to wrestle back some control over this whole situation. From the moment he had felt the first twinge of pain in his lungs, Harry's life had been out of his hands. And now, with this knowledge, this new lead about the poisoner, it was finally in Harry's hands to do something about it.

Knowledge was power after all, Harry reasoned. And with this knowledge, somehow he knew he could find out who was poisoning him, and why. If he solved that mystery, control over his life would come back. No more Snape, no more uncertainty or fear. Everything could go back to normal…

Harry glanced up at the Potion's Professor again. He couldn't help but feel that if he told the professor his suspicions about the house-elves, then control would be wrestled from him once again. Snape would deal with it however he saw fit, and Harry would once again be left in the shadows, waiting with a heavy heart for someone to give him his life back.

Harry moved his knight forward and then leant back on his chair, a deep breath rattling through his lungs with a little more ease than had been possible of late.

If he was honest with himself, Harry was angry with the Potions Professor. Harry couldn't forget the past, no matter how many times Snape saved his life. And no matter how many times Snape told Harry he 'regretted' his behaviour and had been 'mistaken', Harry couldn't lie to himself; Snape still didn't _like _him, and Harry certainly didn't like Snape. Snape had bullied him, and had treated him in much the way the Dursleys had treated him for his entire life. They'd never listened to him, or taken _his _feelings into account. Neither had Snape…

Until recently that is.

_"I will not judge you, Potter," _Snape had said_. "Nothing you say will make me think any differently of you, nor will it make me change my treatment of you. I will not pity you, Potter. Perhaps instead, I may even understand. What have you got to lose?"_

What did he have to lose?

Everything.

If Snape didn't believe him, if he ignored Harry's suspicions – even though Harry _knew _he was right – then it would hurt more than Harry cared to admit. If Harry trusted him and Snape let him down…

Harry shook his head forcibly and made next his move without much consideration. Snape frowned but didn't comment, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief when the man's concentration returned to the board.

God, why was nothing bloody simple in his life? Why, instead of everything being black and white, was everything in his life such a miserable shade of grey?

Because, even though Harry still didn't like the man, and even despite the bullying, the harsh words and the unfair treatment of the past, Snape _had_ helped him once again, not only in saving his life, but by protecting him, and most of all by helping him when he'd struggled to remember why he was still bothering to fight at all.

Had Snape earned his trust?

Every instinct Harry had was still telling him to keep this to himself, to investigate and deal with it himself, but a small part of him was rebelling against any long learned lessons that made trusting someone so difficult. _That_ part of him was urging him to trust Snape, to share the burden of responsibility for once, to let someone else save the day.

Harry didn't trust easily, he never had. Ron and Hermione excepted, Harry wasn't sure he trusted anyone else to the extent that Snape was asking him to do.

Merlin, he didn't even completely trust Professor Dumbledore; the old man was kind, powerful, even worshiped to some extent, and yet Harry still didn't completely trust him. There was something there…an impression that no matter how much the Headmaster cared for him and protected him, there would always be a part of the man that had to think of the bigger picture, the greater good. He would never be solely focused on Harry, would never be able to think only of what was best for him.

It just solidified why Harry had always been wary of the adults in his life. He had never been able to escape the feeling that no matter how much they cared for him, there would always be a part of them that was trying to do what they thought was best for him – even without asking him what that would be. Adults made decisions without him, chartered his life for him without him getting a say. It had always happened at the Dursleys, and when he'd entered the Wizarding World it had happened there as well.

Adults couldn't be trusted. They could be liked, even loved, but never trusted.

So why did Harry suddenly want to trust Snape. Maybe it was because the man had saved his life? Or maybe…maybe it was because the man had done the opposite of what Harry had been working against for years. Adults were supposed to protect children, shelter them.

Snape…well, Snape had allowed Harry to be involved. He _had_ protected Harry from the poisoner, but he had never, not once, protected Harry from the truth. He had never lied to Harry, not even when the lie would have been much kinder than the dark truth.

Maybe that was what made Snape different to the other adults in his life, Harry considered, staring at the chess board as he tried to centre his thoughts. Maybe that was why Harry wanted to trust Snape – because Snape had already proven his trust in Harry.

Harry sighed slightly, shaking himself as he made his next move.

Harry had always done things on his own. He had taken care of himself, practically raised himself and had even on occasion _saved _himself. All the times he had asked for help in his childhood, his pleas had fallen on death ears, and long before Hogwarts, Harry had learnt that there was no point in even bothering to ask for help at all.

For Snape to ask for his trust now, for Harry to rely on the man…it was more difficult that Snape would ever understand. It went against everything Harry had ever learned, it went against everything that made the teenager what he was today.

But Merlin, Harry thought, he was _tired _of it. He was tired of being alone, of struggling down uncertain paths, hoping that he stumbled on a way that would take him forwards rather than backwards. Even though he wanted control, what he wanted more than anything else was have someone to fall back on when everything inevitably went wrong.

He wanted to trust Snape, Harry realised. He wanted the share the burden for once.

But could he? That was the question Harry needed an answer to, and that was the answer than so far was evading him.

* * *

The first game of chess didn't last very long, nor had Harry expected it to. What did surprise Harry, however, was when Snape immediately began to reset the board. Apparently the offer had not been limited to one game, and before Harry could even begin to protest, Snape made his first move and an new game commenced.

Another game had quickly followed - with Harry again losing by a considerable margin - and they were now well into a third. This one, Harry thought stubbornly, was going to be closer.

"Do you remember our conversation yesterday, Potter?" Snape said suddenly, moving a pawn to take Harry's knight. During their first two games, Snape had barely muttered a word, so Harry was a bit confused about what had prompted him to break his silence now.

"Which one?" Harry replied dully, tiredness filling him down to his bones. His mind had whirred non-stop throughout the other two games, flitting back and forth constantly over whether he should tell Snape what he knew. With lunch almost upon them, Harry found that he was beyond tired of all the uncertainty and doubt; of not knowing what the hell to do.

"I am referring to the conversation," Snape answered, "In which I made it clear that you needed to learn to let go of that which is bothering you."

"Oh," Harry replied, choosing his next move. "Yeah I remember. What about it?"

Snape frowned, ignoring the board for the moment. "I told you that talking to someone would help you deal with your fears and worries."

Harry didn't understand where Snape was going with this. "So?"

"So," Snape ground out. "Why, when I am offering you ample opportunity to talk to me, are you refusing to follow my advice?"

_That was what this was all about?_ Harry thought incredulously. Snape had wanted him to talk about his _feelings_?

"Talk to you?" Harry asked, still not quite understanding. "I thought we were playing chess."

"We are, Potter," Snape replied, moving his queen to take one of Harry's pawns. Harry frowned. "But I'm sure even you could manage to think and talk at the same time."

Harry ignored the dig, frowning even more deeply. "That's why you wanted to play chess? So that I would talk to you?"

"I did not _want _to play chess," Snape replied stiffly. "However, in my experience, difficult conversations are made easier when the subject is distracted and focus is elsewhere."

"I…what?"

"It is an opportunity to vent, Potter," Snape explained. "A chance to express your worries to me without feeling as if you are in therapy or that you are being judged."

"That's what this is about?" Harry asked. "Therapy?"

"You cannot avoid these topics anymore, Potter," Snape replied bluntly. "I thought I had made that clear."

When Snape had told Harry that he would need to talk about his past, that he would need to come clean about the things that were bothering him, Harry hadn't expected to have to do it quite so soon. In fact, Harry had been hoping to postpone the inevitable talk for as long as he could, banking on them catching the poisoner before Snape was able to bring up the topic again. If life went back to normal, Harry could go back to dealing with everything in his own way, and Snape could go back to being the same old greasy git he had always been.

"I…you did make it clear," Harry replied uncertainly. "I just…I don't want to talk about that stuff just yet. I'm not ready."

Snape frowned. "Then you will tell me what has been bothering you since the minute you woke up this morning."

"What?" Harry stammered, his gaze immediately falling to the board in an attempt to hide the truth. "Nothing's been bothering me, Sir."

"I am neither blind nor a fool, Potter," Snape retorted angrily. "You are hiding something from me."

"I…it's none of your business, Sir."

Harry quickly moved his bishop to take Snape's queen, his eyes fixed on the board in an effort to avoid the Potion Master's stern gaze. That probably hadn't been the best thing he could have said.

"You've made it my business, Potter," Snape replied bluntly. "Need I remind you that you are still under my protection here. If something is bothering you - to the point, might I add, where you cannot even hold your concentration on a simple chess game - then I need to know what it is." Snape moved his own Bishop. "Checkmate."

Harry resignedly knocked over his king in defeat and glanced over to the door. Even though he knew he should come clean now that Snape had finally confronted him, that he should just get it over with and tell Snape what he had guessed about the House-Elves, the words seemed to stick in his throat, and right now, escape was looking like a viable option.

"Is it something to do with our conclusions yesterday?" Snape guessed when Harry didn't reply. "You are still upset that your friends are suspects perhaps…"

"It's not that," Harry mumbled, keeping his eyes down.

"Then what is it, Potter?" pressed Snape.

"You won't believe me," Harry muttered.

"How do you know?" Snape retorted, apparently annoyed with Harry's attitude. Harry didn't care though; Snape just didn't get how hard this was for him.

"You still do not trust me, do you Potter?" Snape asked, the words blunt but holding a trace of concern that surprised Harry slightly.

"I…it's hard," Harry replied honestly, staring down at his fallen king. "I've always taken care of myself. I've never needed anyone's help…"

"Of course you have," Snape interrupted. "You did not _receive_ any help, but that does not mean that you have never needed it. Potter, if you are to play a part in this war, in this fight against evil, you must accept, above all else, that it is not your fight alone. There are others equally invested, who have lost just as much, who have as much right as you do to want the Dark Lord wiped from this Earth."

"I know that," Harry mumbled.

"Then why do you continue to isolate yourself?" Snape asked. "I understand that trusting someone, an adult, is difficult for you, Potter, but surely you can see that fighting by yourself is a task infinitely more difficult and dangerous. For once in your life, share the damn burden. Tell me what you're trying to keep from me. If – "

"I had a thought, alright?" Harry interrupted, the words bursting from his mouth before he could stop them. "About the poisoner."

"You have discovered a new lead," Snape guessed shrewdly. Anger danced in his eyes, and Harry gulped as he tried not to flinch under the glare.

"I..erm, when you said yesterday that only the fifth year boys could get into my dormitory…I had a thought."

"Idiot boy," muttered Snape, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And of course, you decided to keep this _epiphany _to yourself."

"Look, it's not easy for me alright," Harry snapped.

"Potter, calm down," Snape warned. "We will discuss this...lapse in judgement at another time, though I will let it slide for now since you are obviously in no mood to be reasonable. For the moment, just tell me what conclusion you came to."

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Well, you reckon that only someone with access to the dormitory could have tried to poison me -"

"That is an undeniable fact Potter," Snape interrupted. "No one else could have done it, that's all there is to it. Unless, of course, you poisoned yourself..."

"No," Harry scowled. "But I still think you're wrong about it being one of my friends."

"Potter..."

"No, hear me out," Harry interrupted quickly. "I know what you've told me about increased security, but there's something we didn't consider."

Harry paused, trying to keep calm as he prepared to reveal his suspicions to his professor. This was it, the moment he either gained another ally, or the moment he received yet another disappointment to add to his already long list. The tension was palpable in the very air, and Harry felt his heart thudding loudly in his chest. He could trust Snape...he had to trust Snape...

And if Snape let him down? Well, he would deal with that when - no if - it happened.

"Well, spit it out, Potter," Snape snapped irritably.

"Last night it hit me," Harry continued quietly. "It was a conversation with Dobby that did it really. It just got me thinking about who else had access to the Dormitory. Sir, what about the House-Elves."

"The House-Elves?"

"Yeah, the House-Elves," Harry replied uncertainly. "I mean, they're allowed in the dormitory as well, aren't they? It's not only my friends who could have done this."

Snape's eyes met Harry's and Harry suddenly felt the urge to cower under the table. Harry watched with apprehension as Snape's dark eyes flickered from anger and annoyance to comprehension, finally settling on a trace of horror and realisation as the true consequences of Harry's words finally seemed to hit him.

Realisation? Comprehension? Did Snape...believe him?

"Do you realise," Snape began slowly, enunciating every syllable with a dangerous undertone. "How much trouble you could have saved had you come to me with this earlier? When exactly did this _thought _cross your mind?"

"Yesterday," Harry mumbled, gulping slightly.

"Yesterday," Snape repeated. He glared at Harry, meeting his eyes suddenly. "We will talk about this again, Potter, I assure you."

Harry gulped at the threat. "You mean…do you believe me?"

"It is not something I had considered myself," Snape admitted, "And yet I find the possibility growing the longer I dwell on it. Who better to poison a student than a creature who has been ordered to remain invisible to the population of the school."

"But, what can we do about it?" Harry asked quietly, relief flooding through him. Despite the loss of control that Harry knew was coming, Snape _believed him_ at least. "There must be hundreds of House-Elves."

"It is quite simple, Potter," Snape replied angrily. "And had you come to me sooner, you would have known that."

Without even another glance at Harry, Snape pulled himself up from the table, leaving the chess board behind as he brushed off his robes slightly.

"Nellie!" he called out, taking Harry by surprise. "I require your presence. Immediately."

Before Harry could even register what was going on, a loud crack filled the air and before them appeared a small, female House-Elf, wringing her hands nervously. Her fear was clear in every nuance of expression in her tiny body. She was terrified of being called here, and Harry couldn't help but wonder why.

"M-Master called for Nellie, Professor Snape, Sir?"

"Master?" Harry asked, earning a glare from Snape. Harry ignored him and persevered, turning to face Snape. "This is _your_ House-Elf?"

"No, Master Harry Potter Sir," answered the elf before Snape could reply. She pushed her chest out proudly. "I is being a Hogwarts Elf."

"Hogwarts elves are bound to the school itself," explained Snape, "And as such are required to treat each and any Professor as their master. I am as much Nellie's master as the Headmaster of this school." He turned to the quivering elf. "And I will be obeyed."

"Yes, M-Master," Nellie stammered. "Nellie is sorry – "

"I am not trying to scare you Nellie," Snape said, his voice dropping some of its harshness. "But I want it understood; even if someone has ordered you to keep secret what I am about to ask you, as your master, you will tell me what I need to know."

Nellie nodded, a little more certainly this time. "Yes, Master."

"Excellent," Snape said grimly. "Then let us begin at the logical place. You are in charge of the Hogwarts Elf work rota, are you not?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Who, then, did you place in charge of cleaning the Gryffindor Fifth Year Boys dormitory for the last few weeks?" Snape asked, never taking his eyes off the elf.

The House-Elf squeaked and Harry could've sworn he saw a flicker of shame cross her small face.

"Nellie," prompted Snape when the House-Elf didn't reply immediately.

"I...I is doing that job myself, Master," Nellie replied finally, her expression tinged with guilt.

"Alone?" Snape asked, before Harry could even think of interrupting. Snape sent him a warning look, and Harry snapped his mouth shut, even though anger coursed fiercely in his veins.

"Y-Yes, Sir," Nellie replied quietly. "I...I is doing that task alone."

"Why?" Snape asked, and Harry noticed that he seemed to be making a monumental effort to keep his tone neutral. "It is my understanding that House-Elves at Hogwarts undertook such tasks in groups of two or three at the very least."

"I..." Nellie hesitated, eyes flashing in severe uncertainty. Harry vaguely recognised it as the kind of expression that Dobby would sometimes still get when faced with disobeying an old order.

"Take your time, Nellie," Snape said, apparently recognising the very same thing. "But do not mistake me, you will tell me what I want to know."

"Did someone put you up to this, Nellie?" Harry interjected softly. Snape shot him a warning look, but Harry ignored him. "Look, if someone did…if they made you...poison me…well, I don't blame you."

"M-Master is very kind," Nellie said, guilt returning to her face. To Harry's horror, Nellie began to shake, sobs wracking tiny frame as she broke down. "Nellie is...so sorry. I is being...made to do it. I is not wanting...to poison Master Harry Potter, but I is...I is being ordered to do it."

"Who?" Snape asked intently. "Who ordered you to poison Mr Potter?"

The House-Elf swallowed deeply, apparently trying to swallow back her distress long enough to speak.

"Nellie?" Snape prompted.

Nellie held Snape's gaze. "It is being...it is being the Headmaster, Sir."

Snape's eyes widened in horror and Harry felt his heart stop in his chest, almost as if the poison had returned to his lungs. The Headmaster had ordered him to be poisoned? Surely not…

"Dumbledore?" Snape asked disbelievingly.

Nellie squeaked in horror. "Oh no, Professor Snape, sir! You is mistaken. I is not meaning Headmaster Dumbledore, Sir."

"Who did you mean then?" Snape questioned intensely.

"I is...I is meaning the new Lady Headmaster, sir," the House-Elf replied solemnly.

At those words, Harry felt a pain in his chest that this time had nothing to do with his recent illness and everything to do with the dread that was building rapidly from deep within him. In truth, he should have seen it coming.

Umbridge.

* * *

**A/N - **Okay be honest, who saw this one coming? All my reasoning will be explained in the next couple of chapters I promise, but right now I'm unbelievably nervous about your reaction to this reveal. I had always planned for it to be Umbridge, but now that the mystery is unveiled I feel anxious that you all expected it to be someone else. Please tell me that she is a believable culprit for this crime?

Also, I realise that this chapter is not my best, but I've struggled with it for so many weeks that I had to finally bite the bullet and just post it as it stands. Hopefully the next update won't be quite as long a wait, but I know better than to promise anything. At the very least, I hope you enjoyed reading, and let me know what you think!


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